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POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 
LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 
&    LOVE    IS    ENOUGH 


"t® 

BY 

WILLIAM    MORRIS 


NEW   IMPRESSION 


LONGMANS,   GREEN,   AND   CO. 
39  PATERNOSTER  ROW,  LONDON 

NEW  YORK  AND  BOMBAY 
1902 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

First  Edition  in  this  form,  June  1896 

Reprinted  February  1898 

Reprinted  May  1902 

f-  U  -e  J ' 


CONTENTS 

POEMS    BY    THE    WAY 

PAGE 

FROM  THE  UPLAND  TO  THE  SEA 3 

OF  THE  WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN  THE  STRONG        ...  5 

ECHOES  OF  LOVE'S  HOUSE       .       .       ,       .       .       .  1 5 

THE  BURGHERS'  BATTLE 16 

HOPE  DIETH  :   LOVE  LIVETH 19 

ERROR  AND  LOSS 21 

THE  HALL  AND  THE  WOOD 23 

THE  DAY  OF  DAYS 3! 

TO  THE  MUSE  OF  THE  NORTH $2 

OF  THE  THREE  SEEKERS 33 

LOVE'S  GLEANING-TIDE 37 

THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH  WIND 38 

A  DEATH  SONG 42 

ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN 44 

THE  RAVEN  AND  THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER       ....  48 

SPRING'S  BEDFELLOW 55 

MEETING  IN  WINTER $6 

THE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER 59 

LOVE  FULFILLED 64 

THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS 66 

ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 74 

A  GARDEN  BY  THE  SEA 79 

MOTHER   AND   SON 8l 

THUNDER   IN    THE   GARDEN -89 


383S49 


vi  CONTENTS 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  ......       .       -91 

LOVE'S  REWARD        ........       .  IO2 

THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER     ......  IOQ 

THE  VOICE  OF  TOIL  .........  I2O 

GUNNAR'S  HOWE  ABOVE  THE  HOUSE  AT  LITHEND         .        .122 

DAY  IS  COMING         ........  124 

EARTH  THE  HEALER,  EARTH  THE  KEEPER    .       .       .       .129 

ALL  FOR  THE  CAUSE        ........  133 

PAIN  AND  TIME  STRIVE  NOT   .......  136 

DRAWING  NEAR  THE  LIGHT    .......  137 

VERSES  FOR  PICTURES      ........  138 

FOR  THE  BRIAR  ROSE       ........  140 

ANOTHER  FOR  THE  BRIAR  ROSE     ......  142 

THE  WOODPECKER    .........  143 

THE   LION   ...........  143 

THE   FOREST         ..........  144 

POMONA       ...........  145 

FLORA           ...........  146 

THE   ORCHARD    .....           .....  146 

TAPESTRY   TREES          .........  147 

THE   FLOWERING    ORCHARD         .......  149 

THE   END   OF   MAY       .........  I$O 

THE   HALF   OF   LIFE   GONE            .......  I$I 

MINE   AND   THINE        .........  158 

THE   LAY   OF   CHRISTINE    ........  159 

HILDEBRAND   AND   HELLELIL     .           .           .           .           .           .           .  162 

THE   SON'S   SORROW    .........  l66 

AGNES  AND   THE   HILL-MAN         .......  169 

KNIGHT   AAGEN    AND    MAIDEN   ELSE.  .  .  .  .  .171 

HAFBUR   AND   SIGNY  ......           c           .           .  175 

GOLDILOCKS   AND   GOLDILOCKS.           »•••••  tyl 

LOVE  IS  ENOUGH       ,                         .....  223 


POEMS    BY   THE   WAY 


FROM  THE  UPLAND  TO  THE  SEA 


SHALL  we  wake  one  morn  of  spring, 
Glad  at  heart  of  everything, 
Yet  pensive  with  the  thought  of  eve  ? 
Then  the  white  house  shall  we  leave, 
Pass  the  wind-flowers  and  the  bays, 
Through  the  garth,  and  go  our  ways, 
Wandering  down  among  the  meads 
Till  our  very  joyance  needs 
Rest  at  last ;  till  we  shall  come 
To  that  Sun-god's  lonely  home, 
Lonely  on  the  hillside  grey, 
Whence  the  sheep  have  gone  away ; 
Lonely  till  the  feast- time  is, 
When  with  prayer  and  praise  of  bliss, 
Thither  comes  the  country  side. 
There  awhile  shall  we  abide, 
Sitting  low  down  in  the  porch 
By  that  image  with  the  torch : 
Thy  one  white  hand  laid  upon 
The  black  pillar  that  was  won 
From  the  far-off  Indian  mine ; 
And  my  hand  nigh  touching  thine^ 

3 


POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  not  touching ;  and  thy  gown 
Fair  with  spring-flowers  cast  adown 
From  thy  bosom  and  thy  brow. 
There  the  south-west  wind  shall  blow 
Through  thine  hair  to  reach  my  cheek, 
As  thou  sittest,  nor  mayst  speak, 
Nor  mayst  move  the  hand  I  kiss 
For  the  very  depth  of  bliss ; 
Nay,  nor  turn  thine  eyes  to  me. 
Then  desire  of  the  great  sea 
Nigh  enow,  but  all  unheard, 
In  the  hearts  of  us  is  stirred, 
And  we  rise,  we  twain  at  last, 
And  the  daffodils  downcast, 
Feel  thy  feet  and  we  are  gone 
From  the  lonely  Sun-Crowned  one. 
Then  the  meads  fade  at  our  back, 
And  the  spring  day  'gins  to  lack 
That  fresh  hope  that  once  it  had ; 
But  we  twain  grow  yet  more  glad, 
And  apart  no  more  may  go 
When  the  grassy  slope  and  low 
Dieth  in  the  shingly  sand  : 
Then  we  wander  hand  in  hand 
By  the  edges  of  the  sea, 
And  I  weary  more  for  thee 
Than  if  far  apart  we  were, 
With  a  space  of  desert  drear 
'Twixt  thy  lips  and  mine,  O  love  ! 
Ah,  my  joy,  my  joy  thereof ! 


OF  THE  WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN 
THE  STRONG 

A   STORY   FROM   THE    LAND-SETTLING    BOOK   OF   ICELAND, 
CHAPTER  XXX. 

A^1  Deildar-Tongue  in  the  autumn-tide, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 
Stood  Odd  of  Tongue  his  door  beside. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 
Dim  and  dusk  the  day  was  grown, 
As  he  heard  his  folded  wethers  moan. 
Then  through  the  garth  a  man  drew  near, 
With  painted  shield  and  gold-wrought  spear. 
Good  was  his  horse  and  grand  his  gea*, 
And  his  girths  were  wet  with  Whitewater. 
"  Hail,  Master  Odd,  live  blithe  and  long  ! 
How  fare  the  folk  at  Deildar-Tongue  ?  " 
"  All  hail,  thou  Hallbiorn  the  Strong  ! 
How  fare  the  folk  by  the  Brothers'-Tongue  ?  " 
"  Meat  have  we  there,  and  drink  and  fire, 
Nor  lack  all  things  that  we  desire. 
But  by  the  other  Whitewater 
Of  Hallgerd  many  a  tale  we  hear." 
"  Tales  enow  may  my  daughter  make 
If  too  many  words  be  said  for  her  sake." 


POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  What  saith  thine  heart  to  a  word  of  mine, 

That  I  deem  thy  daughter  fair  and  fine  ? 

Fair  and  fine  for  a  bride  is  she, 

And  I  fain  would  have  her  home  with  me." 

"  Full  many  a  word  that  at  noon  goes  forth 

Comes  home  at  even  little  worth. 

Now  winter  treadeth  on  autumn-tide, 

So  here  till  the  spring  shalt  thou  abide. 

Then  if  thy  mind  be  changed  no  whit, 

And  ye  still  will  wed,  see  ye  to  it ! 

And  on  the  first  of  summer  days, 

A  wedded  man,  ye  may  go  your  ways. 

Yet  look,  howso  the  thing  will  fall, 

My  hand  shall  meddle  nought  at  all. 

Lo,  now  the  night  and  rain  draweth  up, 

And  within  doors  glimmer  stoop  and  cup. 

And  hark,  a  little  sound  I  know, 

The  laugh  of  Snaebiorn's  fiddle-bow, 

My  sister's  son,  and  a  craftsman  good. 

When  the  red  rain  drives  through  the  iron  wood." 

Hallbiorn  laughed,  and  followed  in, 

And  a  merry  feast  there  did  begin. 

Hallgerd's  hands  undid  his  weed, 

Hallgerd's  hands  poured  out  the  mead. 

Her  fingers  at  his  breast  he  felt, 

As  her  hair  fell  down  about  his  belt. 

Her  fingers  with  the  cup  he  took, 

And  o'er  its  rim  at  her  did  look. 

Cold  cup,  warm  hand,  and  fingers  slim, 

Before  his  eyes  were  waxen  dim. 


THE  WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN 

And  if  the  feast  were  foul  or  fair, 

He  knew  not,  save  that  she  was  there. 

He  knew  not  if  men  laughed  or  wept, 

While  still  'twixt  wall  and  dais  she  stept. 

Whether  she  went  or  stood  that  eve, 

Not  once  his  eyes  her  face  did  leave. 

But  Snsebiorn  laughed  and  Snaebiorn  san^, 

And  sweet  his  smitten  fiddle  rang. 

And  Hallgerd  stood  beside  him  there, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

Nor  ever  once  he  turned  to  her, 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


Master  Odd  on  the  morrow  spake, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again. 

"  Hearken,  O  guest,  if  ye  be  awake," 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

"Sure  ye  champions  of  the  south 

Speak  many  things  from  a  silent  mouth. 

And  thine,  meseems,  last  night  did  pray 

That  ye  might  well  be  wed  to-day. 

The  year's  ingathering  feast  it  is, 

A  goodly  day  to  give  thee  bliss. 

Come  hither,  daughter,  fine  and  fair, 

Here  is  a  wooer  from  Whitewater. 

East  away  hath  he  gotten  fame, 

And  his  father's  name  is  e'en  my  name. 

Will  ye  lay  hand  within  his  hand, 

That  blossoming  fair  our  house  may  stand  ?  " 


POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

She  laid  her  hand  within  his  hand ; 

White  she  was  as  the  lily  wand. 

Low  sang  Snaebiorn's  brand  in  its  sheath, 

And  his  lips  were  waxen  grey  as  death. 

"  Snaebiorn,  sing  us  a  song  of  worth, 

If  your  song  must  be  silent  from  now  henceforth. 

Clear  and  loud  his  voice  outrang, 

And  a  song  of  worth  at  the  wedding  he  sang. 

"Sharp  sword,"  he  sang,  "and  death  is  sure." 

S0  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

"  But  love  doth  over  all  endure." 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  f 


Now  winter  cometh  and  weareth  away, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again) 

And  glad  is  Hallbiorn  many  a  day. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

Full  soft  he  lay  his  love  beside ; 

But  dark  are  the  days  of  winter-tide. 

Dark  are  the  days,  and  the  nights  are  long, 

And  sweet  and  fair  was  Snaebiorn's  song. 

Many  a  time  he  talked  with  her, 

Till  they  deemed  the  summer- tide  was  there, 

And  they  forgat  the  wind-swept  ways 

And  angry  fords  of  the  flitting-days. 

While  the  north  wind  swept  the  hillside  there 

They  forgat  the  other  Whitewater. 

While  nights  at  Deildar-Tongue  were  long, 

They  clean  forgat  the  Brothers'-Tongue. 


THE   WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN 

But  whatso  falleth  'twixt  Hell  and  Home, 
S0  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 
Full  surely  again  shall  summer  come. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  f 


To  Odd  spake  Hallbiorn  on  a  day 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

"Gone  is  the  snow  from  everyway." 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

"  Now  green  is  grown  Whitewater-side, 

And  I  to  Whitewater  will  ride." 

Quoth  Odd,  "  Well  fare  thou  winter-guest, 

May  thine  own  Whitewater  be  best 

Well  is  a  man's  purse  better  at  home 

Than  open  where  folk  go  and  come." 

"  Come  ye  carles  of  the  south  country, 

Now  shall  we  go  our  kin  to  see ! 

For  the  lambs  are  bleating  in  the  south, 

And  the  salmon  swims  towards  Olfus  mouth. 

Girth  and  graithe  and  gather  your  gear ! 

And  ho  for  the  other  Whitewater !  " 

Bright  was  the  moon  as  bright  might  be, 

And  Snaebiorn  rode  to  the  north  country. 

And  Odd  to  Reykholt  is  gone  forth, 

To  see  if  his  mares  be  ought  of  worth. 

But  Hallbiorn  into  the  bower  is  gone 

And  there  sat  Hallgerd  all  alone. 

She  was  not  dight  to  go  nor  ride, 

She  had  no  joy  of  the  summer-tide. 


io  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Silent  she  sat  and  combed  her  hair, 

That  fell  all  round  about  her  there. 

The  slant  beam  lay  upon  her  head, 

And  gilt  her  golden  locks  to  red. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  hungry  eyes 

And  fluttering  did  his  heart  arise. 

"  Full  hot,"  he  said,  "  is  the  sun  to-day, 

And  the  snow  is  gone  from  the  mountain-way. 

The  king-cup  grows  above  the  grass, 

And  through  the  wood  do  the  thrushes  pass." 

Of  all  his  words  she  hearkened  none, 

But  combed  her  hair  amidst  the  sun. 

"  The  laden  beasts  stand  in  the  garth 

And  their  heads  are  turned  to  Helliskarth." 

The  sun  was  falling  on  her  knee, 

And  she  combed  her  gold  hair  silently. 

"  To-morrow  great  will  be  the  cheer 

At  the  Brothers '-Tongue  by  Whitewater." 

From  her  folded  lap  the  sunbeam  slid ; 

She  combed  her  hair,  and  the  word  she  hid. 

"Come,  love;  is  the  way  so  long  and  drear 

From  Whitewater  to  Whitewater?" 

The  sunbeam  lay  upon  the  floor ; 

She  combed  her  hair  and  spake  no  more. 

He  drew  her  by  the  lily  hand  : 

"  I  love  thee  better  than  all  the  land." 

He  drew  her  by  the  shoulders  sweet : 

"My  threshold  is  but  for  thy  feet." 

He  drew  her  by  the  yellow  hair : 

"  O  why  wert  thou  so  deadly  fair  ? 


THE   WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN  u 

O  am  I  wedded  to  death  ?  "  he  cried, 

"  Is  the  Dead-strand  come  to  Whitewater  side  ?  " 

And  the  sun  was  fading  from  the  room, 

But  her  eyes  were  bright  in  the  change  and  the  gloom. 

"Sharp  sword,"  she  sang,  "and  death  is  sure, 

But  over  all  doth  love  endure." 

She  stood  up  shining  in  her  place 

And  laughed  beneath  his  deadly  face. 

Instead  of  the  sunbeam  gleamed  a  brand, 

The  hilts  were  hard  in  Hallbiorn's  hand : 

The  bitter  point  was  in  Hallgerd's  breast 

That  Snaebiorn's  lips  of  love  had  pressed. 

Morn  and  noon,  and  nones  passed  o'er, 

And  the  sun  is  far  from  the  bower  door. 

To-morrow  morn  shall  the  sun  come  back, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

But  Hallgerd's  feet  the  floor  shall  lack. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


Now  Hallbiorn's  house-carles  ride  full  fast, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again , 

Till  many  a  mile  of  way  is  past. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 

But  when  they  came  over  Oxridges, 

'Twas,  "  Where  shall  we  give  our  horses  ease  ?  " 

When  Shieldbroad-side  was  well  in  sight, 

'Twas,  "  Where  shall  we  lay  our  heads  to-night  ?  " 

Hallbiorn  turned  and  raised  his  head ; 

"  Under  the  stones  of  the  waste,"  he  said. 


12  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Quoth  one,  "  The  clatter  of  hoofs  anigh." 

Quoth  the  other,  "  Spears  against  the  sky  ! " 

"  Hither  ride  men  from  the  Wells  apace ; 

Spur  we  fast  to  a  kindlier  place." 

Down  from  his  horse  leapt  Hallbiorn  straight : 

"  Why  should  the  supper  of  Odin  wait  ? 

Weary  and  chased  I  will  not  come 

To  the  table  of  my  fathers'  home." 

With  that  came  Snaebiorn,  who  but  he, 

And  twelve  in  all  was  his  company. 

Snaebiorn's  folk  were  on  their  feet ; 

He  spake  no  word  as  they  did  meet. 

They  fought  upon  the  northern  hill : 

Five  are  the  howes  men  see  there  still. 

Three  men  of  Snaebiorn's  fell  to  earth 

And  Hallbiorn's  twain  that  were  of  worth. 

And  never  a  word  did  Snaebiorn  say, 

Till  Hallbiorn's  foot  he  smote  away. 

Then  Hallbiorn  cried  :  "  Come,  fellow  of  mine, 

To  the  southern  bent  where  the  sun  doth  shine." 

Tottering  into  the  sun  he  went, 

And  slew  two  more  upon  the  bent. 

And  on  the  bent  where  dead  he  lay 

Three  howes  do  men  behold  to-day. 

And  never  a  word  spake  Snaebiorn  yet, 

Till  in  his  saddle  he  was  set. 

Nor  was  there  any  heard  his  voice, 

So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 

Till  he  came  to  his  ship  in  Grimsar-oyce. 

What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


THE   WOOING  OF  HALLBIORN  13 

On  so  fair  a  day  they  hoisted  sail, 
So  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 
And  for  Norway  well  did  the  wind  avail. 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  f 
But  Snaebiorn  looked  aloft  and  said : 
"  I  see  in  the  sail  a  stripe  of  red : 
Murder,  meseems,  is  the  name  of  it, 
And  ugly  things  about  it  flit. 
A  stripe  of  blue  in  the  sail  I  see : 
Cold  death  of  men  it  seems  to  me. 
And  next  I  see  a  stripe  of  black, 
For  a  life  fulfilled  of  bitter  lack." 
Quoth  one,  "  So  fair  a  wind  doth  blow 
That  we  shall  see  Norway  soon  enow." 
"  Be  blithe,  O  shipmate,"  Snaebiorn  said, 
"Tell  Hacon  the  Earl  that  I  be  dead." 
About  the  midst  of  the  Iceland  main 
Round  veered  the  wind  to  the  east  again. 
And  west  they  drave,  and  long  they  ran 
Till  they  saw  a  land  was  white  and  wan. 
"  Yea,"  Snaebiorn  said,  "  my  home  it  is, 
Ye  bear  a  man  shall  have  no  bliss. 
Far  off  beside  the  Greekish  sea 
The  maidens  pluck  the  grapes  in  glee. 
Green  groweth  the  wheat  in  the  English  land, 
And  the  honey-bee  flieth  on  every  hand. 
In  Norway  by  the  cheaping  town 
The  laden  beasts  go  up  and  down. 
In  Iceland  many  a  mead  they  mow 
And  Hallgerd's  grave  grows  green  enow. 


i4  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  these  are  Gunnbiorn's  skerries  wan, 
Meet  harbour  for  a  hapless  man. 
In  all  lands  else  is  love  alive, 
But  here  is  nought  with  grief  to  strive. 
Fail  not  for  a  while,  O  eastern  wind, 
For  nought  but  grief  is  left  behind. 
And  before  me  here  a  rest  I  know," 
£0  many  times  over  comes  summer  again, 
"  A  grave  beneath  the  Greenland  snow," 
What  healing  in  summer  if  winter  be  vain  ? 


ECHOES  OF  LOVE'S   HOUSE 


T  OVE  gives  every  gift  whereby  we  long  to  live : 

J s  "  Love  takes  every  gift,  and  nothing  back  doth  give." 

Love  unlocks  the  lips  that  else  were  ever  dumb : 

"  Love  locks  up  the  lips  whence  all  things  good  might  come." 

Love  makes  clear  the  eyes  that  else  would  never  see : 
"  Love  makes  blind  the  eyes  to  all  but  me  and  thee." 

Love  turns  life  to  joy  till  nought  is  left  to  gain : 

"  Love  turns  life  to  woe  till  hope  is  nought  and  vain." 

Love,  who  changest  all,  change  me  nevermore ! 
"  Love,  who  changest  all,  change  my  sorrow  sore ! " 

Love  burns  up  the  world  to  changeless  heaven  and  blest, 
"  Love  burns  up  the  world  to  a  void  of  all  unrest." 

And  there  we  twain  are  left,  and  no  more  work  we  need : 
"  And  I  am  left  alone,  and  who  my  work  shall  heed  ?  " 

Ah  !  I  praise  thee,  Love,  for  utter  joyance  won  ! 

"  And  is  my  praise  nought  worth  for  all  my  life  undone  ?  " 


THE  BURGHERS'  BATTLE 


THICK  rise  the  spear-shafts  o'er  the  land 
That  erst  the  harvest  bore ; 
The  sword  is  heavy  in  the  hand, 
And  we  return  no  more. 
The  light  wind  waves  the  Ruddy  Fox, 
Our  banner  of  the  war, 
And  ripples  in  the  Running  Ox, 
And  we  return  no  more. 
Across  our  stubble  acres  now 
The  teams  go  four  and  four ; 
But  out-worn  elders  guide  the  plough, 
And  we  return  no  more. 
And  now  the  women  heavy-eyed 
Turn  through  the  open  door 
From  gazing  down  the  highway  wide, 
Where  we  return  no  more. 
The  shadows  of  the  fruited  close 
Dapple  the  feast-hall  floor ; 
There  lie  our  dogs  and  dream  and  doze, 
And  we  return  no  more. 
Down  from  the  minster  tower  to-day 
Fall  the  soft  chimes  of  yore 

16 


THE  BURGHERS'  BATTLE  17 

Amidst  the  chattering  jackdaws'  play : 

And  we  return  no  more. 

But  underneath  the  streets  are  still ; 

Noon,  and  the  market's  o'er ! 

Back  go  the  goodwives  o'er  the  hill ; 

For  we  return  no  more. 

What  merchant  to  our  gates  shall  come  ? 

What  wise  man  bring  us  lore  ? 

What  abbot  ride  away  to  Rome, 

Now  we  return  no  more  ? 

What  mayor  shall  rule  the  hall  we  built  ? 

Whose  scarlet  sweep  the  floor? 

What  judge  shall  doom  the  robber's  guilt, 

Now  we  return  no  more  ? 

New  houses  in  the  street  shall  rise 

Where  builded  we  before, 

Of  other  stone  wrought  otherwise ; 

For  we  return  no  more. 

And  crops  shall  cover  field  and  hill 

Unlike  what  once  they  bore, 

And  all  be  done  without  our  will, 

Now  we  return  no  more. 

Look  up  !  the  arrows  streak  the  sky, 

The  horns  of  battle  roar ; 

The  long  spears  lower  and  draw  nigh, 

And  we  return  no  more. 

Remember  how  beside  the  wain, 

We  spoke  the  word  of  war, 

And  sowed  this  harvest  of  the  plain, 

And  we  return  no  more. 


1 8  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Lay  spears  about  the  Ruddy  Fox  1 
The  days  of  old  are  o'er ; 
Heave  sword  about  the  Running  Ox  ! 
For  we  return  no  more. 


HOPE  DIETH:   LOVE  LIVETH 


STRONG  are  thine  arms,  O  love,  and  strong 
Thine  heart  to  live,  and  love,  and  long ; 
But  thou  art  wed  to  grief  and  wrong  : 
Live,  then,  and  long,  though  hope  be  dead ! 
Live  on,  and  labour  through  the  years ! 
Make  pictures  through  the  mist  of  tears, 
Of  unforgotten  happy  fears, 
That  crossed  the  time  ere  hope  was  dead. 
Draw  near  the  place  where  once  we  stood 
Amid  delight's  swift-rushing  flood, 
And  we  and  all  the  world  seemed  good 
Nor  needed  hope  now  cold  and  dead. 
Dream  in  the  dawn  I  come  to  thee 
Weeping  for  things  that  may  not  be ! 
Dream  that  thou  layest  lips  on  me ! 
Wake,  wake  to  clasp  hope's  body  dead ! 
Count  o'er  and  o'er,  and  one  by  one, 
The  minutes  of  the  happy  sun 
That  while  agone  on  kissed  lips  shone, 
Count  on,  rest  not,  for  hope  is  dead. 
Weep,  though  no  hair's  breadth  thou  shalt  move 

The  living  Earth,  the  heaven  above, 
19 


20  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

By  all  the  bitterness  of  love  ! 

Weep  and  cease  not,  now  hope  is  dead ! 

Sighs  rest  thee  not,  tears  bring  no  ease, 

Life  hath  no  joy,  and  Death  no  peace  : 

The  years  change  not,  though  they  decrease. 

For  hope  is  dead,  for  hope  is  dead. 

Speak,  love,  I  listen  :  far  away 

I  bless  the  tremulous  lips,  that  say, 

"  Mock  not  the  afternoon  of  day, 

Mock  not  the  tide  when  hope  is  dead ! M 

I  bless  thee,  O  my  love,  who  say'st : 

"  Mock  not  the  thistle-cumbered  waste ; 

I  hold  Love's  hand,  and  make  no  haste 

Down  the  long  way,  now  hope  is  dead. 

With  other  names  do  we  name  pain, 

The  long  years  wear  our  hearts  in  vain. 

Mock  not  our  loss  grown  into  gain, 

Mock  not  our  lost  hope  lying  dead. 

Our  eyes  gaze  for  no  morning-star, 

No  glimmer  of  the  dawn  afar  ; 

Full  silent  wayfarers  we  are 

Since  ere  the  noon-tide  hope  lay  dead. 

Behold  with  lack  of  happiness 

The  master,  Love,  our  hearts  did  bless 

Lest  we  should  think  of  him  the  less : 

Love  dieth  not,  though  hope  is  dead ! " 


ERROR  AND  LOSS 

UPON  an  eve  I  sat  me  down  and  wept, 
Because  the  world  to  me  seemed  nowise  good ; 
Still  autumn  was  it,  and  the  meadows  slept, 
The  misty  hills  dreamed,  and  the  silent  wood 
Seemed  listening  to  the  sorrow  of  my  mood : 
I  knew  not  if  the  earth  with  me  did  grieve, 
Or  if  it  mocked  my  grief  that  bitter  eve. 

Then  'twixt  my  tears  a  maiden  did  I  see, 
Who  drew  anigh  me  on  the  leaf-strewn  grass, 
Then  stood  and  gazed  upon  me  pitifully 
With  grief-worn  eyes,  until  my  woe  did  pass 
From  me  to  her,  and  tearless  now  I  was, 
And  she  mid  tears  was  asking  me  of  one 
She  long  had  sought  unaided  and  alone. 

I  knew  not  of  him,  and  she  turned  away 

Into  the  dark  wood,  and  my  own  great  pain 

Still  held  me  there,  till  dark  had  slain  the  day, 

And  perished  at  the  grey  dawn's  hand  again ; 

Then  from  the  wood  a  voice  cried  :  "  Ah,  in  vain, 

In  vain  I  seek  thee,  O  thou  bitter-sweet ! 

In  what  lone  land  are  set  thy  longed-for  feet  ?  " 


22  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Then  I  looked  up,  and  lo,  a  man  there  came 
From  midst  the  trees,  and  stood  regarding  me 
Until  my  tears  were  dried  for  very  shame ; 
Then  he  cried  out :  "  O  mourner,  where  is  she 
Whom  I  have  sought  o'er  every  land  and  sea  ? 
I  love  her  and  she  loveth  me,  and  still 
We  meet  no  more  than  green  hill  meeteth  hill." 

With  that  he  passed  on  sadly,  and  I  knew 
That  these  had  met  and  missed  in  the  dark  night, 
Blinded  by  blindness  of  the  world  untrue, 
That  hideth  love  and  maketh  wrong  of  right. 
Then  midst  my  pity  for  their  lost  delight, 
Yet  more  with  barren  longing  I  grew  weak, 
Yet  more  I  mourned  that  I  had  none  to  seek. 


THE   HALL  AND  THE  WOOD 


"HT^WAS  in  the  water-dwindling  tide 

JL     When  July  days  were  done, 
Sir  Rafe  of  Greenhowes  'gan  to  ride 
In  the  earliest  of  the  sun. 

He  left  the  white-walled  burg  behind, 
He  rode  amidst  the  wheat. 
The  westland-gotten  wind  blew  kind 
Across  the  acres  sweet. 

Then  rose  his  heart  and  cleared  his  brow, 
And  slow  he  rode  the  way : 
"  As  then  it  was,  so  is  it  now, 
Not  all  hath  worn  away." 

So  came  he  to  the  long  green  lane 
That  leadeth  to  the  ford, 
And  saw  the  sickle  by  the  wain 
Shine  bright  as  any  sword. 

The  brown  carles  stayed  'twixt  draught  and  draught, 

And  murmuring,  stood  aloof, 

But  one  spake  out  when  he  had  laughed : 

"God  bless  the  Green-wood  Roof!" 
33 


24  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Then  o'er  the  ford  and  up  he  fared  : 
And  lo  the  happy  hills  ! 
And  the  mountain-dale  by  summer  cleared, 
That  oft  the  winter  fills. 

Then  forth  he  rode  by  Peter's  gate, 
And  smiled  and  said  aloud  : 
"  No  more  a  day  doth  the  Prior  wait ; 
White  stands  the  tower  and  proud." 

There  leaned  a  knight  on  the  gateway  side 
In  armour  white  and  wan, 
And  after  the  heels  of  the  horse  he  cried, 
"  God  keep  the  hunted  man ! " 

Then  quoth  Sir  Rafe,  "  Amen,  amen ! " 
For  he  deemed  the  word  was  good ; 
But  never  a  while  he  lingered  then 
Till  he  reached  the  Nether  Wood. 


He  rode  by  ash,  he  rode  by  oak, 
He  rode  the  thicket  round, 
And  heard  no  woodman  strike  a  stroke, 
No  wandering  wife  he  found. 

He  rode  the  wet,  he  rode  the  dry, 
He  rode  the  grassy  glade : 
At  Wood-end  yet  the  sun  was  high, 
And  his  heart  was  unafraid. 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  WOOD       25 

There  on  the  bent  his  rein  he  drew, 
And  looked  o'er  field  and  fold, 
O'er  all  the  merry  meads  he  knew 
Beneath  the  mountains  old. 

He  gazed  across  to  the  good  Green  Howe 
As  he  smelt  the  sun-warmed  sward ; 
Then  his  face  grew  pale  from  chin  to  brow, 
And  he  cried,  "  God  save  the  sword  1 " 

For  there  beyond  the  winding  way, 
Above  the  orchards  green, 
Stood  up  the  ancient  gables  grey 
With  ne'er  a  roof  between. 

His  naked  blade  in  hand  he  had, 

O'er  rough  and  smooth  he  rode, 

Till  he  stood  where  once  his  heart  was  glad 

Amidst  his  old  abode. 


Across  the  hearth  a  tie-beam  lay 
Unmoved  a  weary  while. 
The  flame  that  clomb  the  ashlar  grey 
Had  burned  it  red  as  tile. 

The  sparrows  bickering  on  the  floor 
Fled  at  his  entering  in ; 
The  swift  flew  past  the  empty  door 
His  winged  meat  to  win. 


26  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Red  apples  from  the  tall  old  tree 
O'er  the  wall's  rent  were  shed. 
Thence  oft,  a  little  lad,  would  he 
Look  down  upon  the  lead. 

There  turned  the  cheeping  chaffinch  now 
And  feared  no  birding  child ; 
Through  the  shot-window  thrust  a  bough 
Of  garden-rose  run  wild. 

•He  looked  to  right,  he  looked  to  left, 
And  down  to  the  cold  grey  hearth, 
Where  lay  an  axe  with  half  burned  heft 
Amidst  the  ashen  dearth. 

He  caught  it  up  and  cast  it  wide 
Against  the  gable  wall ; 
Then  to  the  dais  did  he  stride, 
O'er  beam  and  bench  and  all. 

Amidst  there  yet  the  high-seat  stood, 
Where  erst  his  sires  had  sat ; 
And  the  mighty  board  of  oaken  wood, 
The  fire  had  stayed  thereat. 

Then  through  the  red  wrath  of  his  eyne 
He  saw  a  sheathed  sword, 
Laid  thwart  that  wasted  field  of  wine, 
Amidmost  of  the  board. 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  WOOD       27 

And  by  the  hilts  a  slug-horn  lay, 
And  therebeside  a  scroll, 
He  caught  it  up  and  turned  away 
From  the  lea-land  of  the  bowl. 


Then  with  the  sobbing  grief  he  strove, 
For  he  saw  his  name  thereon ; 
And  the  heart  within  his  breast  uphove 
As  the  pen's  tale  now  he  won. 

"  O  Rafe,  my  love  of  long  ago ! 
Draw  forth  thy  father's  blade, 
And  blow  the  horn  for  friend  and  foe, 
And  the  good  green-wood  to  aid ! " 

He  turned  and  took  the  slug-horn  up, 
And  Set  it  to  his  mouth, 
And  o'er  that  meadow  of  the  cup 
Blew  east  and. west  and  south. 

He  drew  the  sword  from  out  the  sheath 
And  shook  the  fallow  brand ; 
And  there  a  while  with  bated  breath, 
And  hearkening  ear  did  stand. 

Him-seemed  the  horn's  voice  he  might  hear 
Or  the  wind  that  blew  o'er  all. 
Him-seemed  that  footsteps  drew  anear — 
Or  the  boughs  shook  round  the  hall. 


28  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Him-seemed  he  heard  a  voice  he  knew — 

Or  a  dream  of  while  agone. 

Him-seemed  bright  raiment  towards  him  drew — 

Or  bright  the  sun-set  shone. 


She  stood  before  him  face  to  face, 
With  the  sun- beam  thwart  her  hand, 
As  on  the  gold  of  the  Holy  Place 
The  painted  angels  stand. 

With  many  a  kiss  she  closed  his  eyes ; 
She  kissed  him  cheek  and  chin  : 
E'en  so  in  the  painted  Paradise 
Are  Earth's  folk  welcomed  in. 

There  in  the  door  the  green-coats  stood, 
O'er  the  bows  went  up  the  cry, 
"  O  welcome,  Rafe,  to  the  free  green-wood, 
With  us  to  live  and  die." 

It  was  bill  and  bow  by  the  high-seat  stood, 
And  they  cried  above  the  bows, 
"  Now  welcome,  Rafe,  to  the  good  green-wood, 
And  welcome  Kate  the  Rose ! " 


White,  white  in  the  moon  is  the  woodland  plash, 
White  is  the  woodland  glade, 
Forth  wend  those  twain,  from  oak  to  ash, 
With  light  hearts  unafraid. 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  WOOD       29 

The  summer  moon  high  o'er  the  hill, 

All  silver-white  is  she, 

And  Sir  Rafe's  good  men  with  bow  and  bill, 

They  go  by  two  and  three. 

In  the  fair  green-wood  where  lurks  no  fear, 
Where  the  King's  writ  runneth  not, 
There  dwell  they,  friends  and  fellows  dear, 
While  summer  days  are  hot. 

And  when  the  leaf  from  the  oak-tree  falls, 
And  winds  blow  rough  and  strong, 
With  the  carles  of  the  woodland  thorps  and  halls 
They  dwell,  and  fear  no  wrong. 

And  there  the  merry  yule  they  make, 
And  see  the  winter  wane, 
And  fain  are  they  for  true-love's  sake, 
And  the  folk  thereby  are  fain. 

For  the  ploughing  carle  and  the  straying  herd 

Flee  never  for  Sir  Rafe  : 

No  barefoot  maiden  wends  afeard, 

And  she  deems  the  thicket  safe. 

But  sore  adread  do  the  chapmen  ride ; 
Wide  round  the  wood  they  go ; 
And  the  judge  and  the  sergeants  wander  wide, 
Lest  they  plead  before  the  bow. 


30  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Well  learned  and  wise  is  Sir  Rafe's  good  sword, 
And  straight  the  arrows  fly, 
And  they  find  the  coat  of  many  a  lord, 
And  the  crest  that  rideth  high. 


THE  DAY  OF  DAYS 


EACH  eve  earth  falleth  down  the  dark, 
As  though  its  hope  were  o'er ; 
Yet  lurks  the  sun  when  day  is  done 
Behind  to-morrow's  door. 

Grey  grows  the  dawn  while  men-folk  sleep, 
Unseen  spreads  on  the  light, 
Till  the  thrush  sings  to  the  coloured  things, 
And  earth  forgets  the  night. 

No  otherwise  wends  on  our  Hope  : 
E'en  as  a  tale  that's  told 
Are  fair  lives  lost,  and  all  the  cost 
Of  wise  and  true  and  bold. 

We've  toiled  and  failed ;  we  spake  the  word ; 
None  hearkened ;  dumb  we  lie ; 
Our  Hope  is  dead,  the  seed  we  spread 
Fell  o'er  the  earth  to  die. 

What's  this  ?     For  joy  our  hearts  stand  still, 
And  life  is  loved  and  dear, 
The  lost  and  found  the  Cause  hath  crowned, 
The  Day  of  Days  is  here. 


TO  THE  MUSE  OF  THE  NORTH 

OMUSE  that  swayest  the  sad  Northern  Song, 
Thy  right  hand  full  of  smiting  and  of  wrong. 
Thy  left  hand  holding  pity;  and  thy  breast 
Heaving  with  hope  of  that  so  certain  rest : 
Thou,  with  the  grey  eyes  kind  and  unafraid, 
The  soft  lips  trembling  not,  though  they  have  said 
The  doom  of  the  World  and  those  that  dwell  therein. 
The  lips  that  smile  not  though  thy  children  win 
The  fated  Love  that  draws  the  fated  Death. 
O,  borne  adown  the  fresh  stream  of  thy  breath, 
Let  some  word  reach  my  ears  and  touch  my  heart, 
That,  if  it  may  be,  I  may  have  a  part 
In  that  great  sorrow  of  thy  children  dead 
That  vexed  the  brow,  and  bowed  adown  the  head, 
Whitened  the  hair,  made  life  a  wondrous  dream, 
And  death  the  murmur  of  a  restful  stream, 
But  left  no  stain  upon  those  souls  of  thine 
Whose  greatness  through  the  tangled  world  doth  shine. 
O  Mother,  and  Love  and  Sister  all  in  one, 
Come  thou ;  for  sure  I  am  enough  alone 
That  thou  thine  arms  about  my  heart  shouldst  throw, 
And  wrap  me  in  the  grief  of  long  ago. 


OF  THE  THREE  SEEKERS 

THERE  met  three  knights  on  the  woodland  way, 
And  the  first  was  clad  in  silk  array : 
The  second  was  dight  in  iron  and  steel, 
But  the  third  was  rags  from  head  to  heel. 
"  Lo,  now  is  the  year  and  the  day  come  round 
When  we  must  tell  what  we  have  found." 
The  first  said  :  "  I  have  found  a  king 
Who  grudgeth  no  gift  of  anything." 
The  second  said  :  "  I  have  found  a  knight 
Who  hath  never  turned  his  back  in  fight." 
But  the  third  said :  "  I  have  found  a  love 
That  Time  and  the  World  shall  never  move." 

Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  ? 

"  With  me,"  said  the  first,  "  for  my  king  is  near." 

So  to  the  King  they  went  their  ways ; 

But  there  was  a  change  of  times  and  days. 

"What  men  are  ye,"  the  great  King  said, 

"  That  ye  should  eat  my  children's  bread  ? 

My  waste  has  fed  full  many  a  store, 

And  mocking  and  grudge  have  I  gained  therefore. 

Whatever  waneth  as  days  wax  old, 

Full  worthy  to  win  are  goods  and  gold." 

33  r. 


34  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  ? 

"With  me,"  said  the  second,  "my  knight  is  near. 

So  to  the  knight  they  went  their  ways, 

But  there  was  a  change  of  times  and  days. 

He  dwelt  in  castle  sure  and  strong, 

For  fear  lest  aught  should  do  him  wrong. 

Guards  by  gate  and  hall  there  were, 

And  folk  went  in  and  out  in  fear. 

When  he  heard  the  mouse  run  in  the  wall, 

"  Hist !  "  he  said,  "  what  next  shall  befall? 

Draw  not  near,  speak  under  your  breath, 

For  all  new-comers  tell  of  death. 

Bring  me  no  song  nor  minstrelsy, 

Round  death  it  babbleth  still,"  said  he. 

"  And  what  is  fame  and  the  praise  of  men, 

When  lost  life  cometh  not  again  ?  " 

Whither  away  to  seek  good  cheer  ? 

"  Ah  me  ! "  said  the  third,  "  that  my  love  were  anear 

Were  the  world  as  little  as  it  is  wide, 

In  a  happy  house  should  ye  abide. 

Were  the  world  as  kind  as  it  is  hard, 

Ye  should  behold  a  fair  reward." 

So  far  by  high  and  low  have  they  gone, 

They  have  come  to  a  waste  was  rock  and  stone. 

But  lo,  from  the  waste,  a  company 

Full  well  bedight  came  riding  by ; 

And  in  the  midst,  a  queen,  so  fair, 

That  God  wrought  well  in  making  her. 


OF  THE  THREE  SEEKERS  35 

The  first  and  second  knights  abode 

To  gaze  upon  her  as  she  rode, 

Forth  passed  the  third  with  head  down  bent, 

And  stumbling  ever  as  he  went. 

His  shoulder  brushed  her  saddle-bow ; 

He  trembled  with  his  head  hung  low. 

His  hand  brushed  o'er  her  golden  gown, 

As  on  the  waste  he  fell  adown. 

So  swift  to  earth  her  feet  she  set, 

It  seemed  that  there  her  arms  he  met 

His  lips  that  looked  the  stone  to  meet 

Were  on  her  trembling  lips  and  sweet. 

Softly  she  kissed  him  cheek  and  chin, 

His  mouth  her  many  tears  drank  in. 

"Where  would'st  thou  wander,  love,"  she  said, 

"  Now  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead  ?  " 

"  I  go  my  ways,"  he  said,  "  and  thine 

Have  nought  to  do  with  grief  and  pine." 

"  All  ways  are  one  way  now,"  she  said, 

"Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

Said  he,  "  But  I  must  seek  again 

Where  first  I  met  thee  in  thy  pain : 

I  am  not  clad  so  fair,"  said  he, 

"  But  yet  the  old  hurts  thou  may'st  see. 

And  thou,  but  for  thy  gown  of  gold, 

A  piteous  tale  of  thee  were  told." 

"  There  is  no  pain  on  earth,"  she  said, 

"  Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

"  And  parting  waiteth  for  us  there," 

Said  he,  "  as  it  was  yester-year." 


36  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

"Yet  first  a  space  of  love,"  she  said, 
"Since  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead" 
He  laughed ;  said  he,  "  Hast  thou  a  home 
Where  I  and  these  my  friends  may  come  ?  " 
Laughing,  "  The  world's  my  home,"  she  said, 
"  Now  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead. 
Yet  somewhere  is  a  space  thereof 
Where  I  may  dwell  beside  my  love. 
There  clear  the  river  grows  for  him 
Till  o'er  its  stones  his  keel  shall  swim. 
There  faint  the  thrushes  in  their  song, 
And  deem  he  tarrieth  overlong. 
There  summer-tide  is  waiting  now 
Until  he  bids  the  roses  blow. 
Come,  tell  my  flowery  fields,"  she  said, 
"  How  I  have  drawn  thee  from  the  dead." 

Whither  away  to  win  good  cheer  ? 

"  With  me,"  he  said,  "  for  my  love  is  here. 

The  wealth  of  my  house  it  waneth  not ; 

No  gift  it  giveth  is  forgot. 

No  fear  my  house  may  enter  in, 

For  nought  is  there  that  death  may  win. 

Now  life  is  little,  and  death  is  nought, 

Since  all  is  found  that  erst  I  sought." 


LOVE'S  GLEANING-TIDE 


DRAW  not  away  thy  hands,  my  love, 
With  wind  alone  the  branches  move, 
And  though  the  leaves  be  scant  above 
The  Autumn  shall  not  shame  us. 

Say ;  Let  the  world  wax  cold  and  drear, 
What  is  the  worst  of  all  the  year 
But  life,  and  what  can  hurt  us,  dear, 
Or  death,  and  who  shall  blame  us  ? 

Ah,  when  the  summer  comes  again 
How  shall  we  say,  we  sowed  in  vain  ? 
The  root  was  joy,  the  stem  was  pain, 
The  ear  a  nameless  blending. 

The  root  is  dead  and  gone,  my  love, 
The  stem's  a  rod  our  truth  to  prove ; 
The  ear  is  stored  for  nought  to  move 
Till  heaven  and  earth  have  ending. 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH   WIND 

FAIR  now  is  the  spring-tide,  now  earth  lies  beholding 
With  the  eyes  of  a  lover,  the  face  of  the  sun ; 
Long  lasteth  the  daylight,  and  hope  is  enfolding 
The  green-growing  acres  with  increase  begun. 

Now  sweet,  sweet  it  is  through  the  land  to  be  straying 
'Mid  the  birds  and  the  blossoms  and  the  beasts  of  the  field ; 
Love  mingles  with  love,  and  no  evil  is  weighing 
On  thy  heart  or  mine,  where  all  sorrow  is  healed. 

From  township  to  township,  o'er  down  and  by  tillage 
Fair,  far  have  we  wandered  and  long  was  the  day ; 
But  now  cometh  eve  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
Where  over  the  grey  wall  the  church  riseth  grey. 

There  is  wind  in  the  twilight ;  in  the  white  road  before  us 
The  straw  from  the  ox-yard  is  blowing  about ; 
The  moon's  rim  is  rising,  a  star  glitters  o'er  us, 
And  the  vane  on  the  spire-top  is  swinging  in  doubt 

Down  there  dips  the  highway,  toward  the  bridge  crossing  over 
The  brook  that  runs  on  to  the  Thames  and  the  sea. 
Draw  closer,  my  sweet,  we  are  lover  and  lover ; 
This  eve  art  thou  given  to  gladness  and  me. 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH  WIND      39 

Shall  we  be  glad  always  ?     Come  closer  and  hearken  : 

Three  fields  further  on,  as  they  told  me  down  there, 

When   the   young  moon  has  set,   if  the   March  sky  should 

darken, 
We  might  see  from  the  hill-top  the  great  city's  glare. 

• 

Hark,  the  wind  in  the  elm-boughs  !  from  London  it  bloweth, 

And  telleth  of  gold,  and  of  hope  and  unrest ; 

Of  power  that  helps  not ;  of  wisdom  that  knoweth, 

But  teacheth  not  aught  of  the  worst  and  the  best. 

Of  the  rich  men  it  telleth,  and  strange  is  the  story 
How  they  have,  and  they  hanker,  and  grip  far  and  wide ; 
And  they  live  and  they  die,  and  the  earth  and  its  glory 
Has  been  but  a  burden  they  scarce  might  abide. 

Hark  !  the  March  wind  again  of  a  people  is  telling ; 
Of  the  life  that  they  live  there,  so  haggard  and  grim, 
That  if  we  and  our  love  amidst  them  had  been  dwelling 
My  fondness  had  faltered,  thy  beauty  grown  dim. 

This  land  we  have  loved  in  our  love  and  our  leisure 
For  them  hangs  in  heaven,  high  out  of  their  reach  ; 
The  wide  hills  o'er  the  sea-plain  for  them  have  no  pleasure, 
The  grey  homes  of  their  fathers  no  story  to  teach. 

The  singers  have  sung  and  the  builders  have  builded, 
The  painters  have  fashioned  their  tales  of  delight ; 
For  what  and  for  whom  hath  the  world's  book  been  gilded, 
When  all  is  for  these  but  the  blackness  of  night  ? 


40  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

How  long,  and  for  what  is  their  patience  abiding  ? 
How  oft  and  how  oft  shall  their  story  be  told, 
While  the  hope  that  none  seeketh  in  darkness  is  hiding, 
And  in  grief  and  in  sorrow  the  world  groweth  old  ? 


Come  back  to  the  inn,  love,  and  the  lights  and  the  fire, 
And  the  fiddler's  old  tune  and  the  shuffling  of  feet ; 
For  there  in  a  while  shall  be  rest  and  desire, 
And  there  shall  the  morrow's  uprising  be  sweet 

Yet,  love,  as  we  wend,  the  wind  bloweth  behind  us, 
And  beareth  the  last  tale  it  telleth  to-night, 
How  here  in  the  spring-tide  the  message  shall  find  us ; 
For  the  hope  that  none  seeketh  is  coming  to  light. 

Like  the  seed  of  mid-winter,  unheeded,  unperished, 
Like  the  autumn-sown  wheat  'neath  the  snow  lying  green, 
Like  the  love  that  o'ertook  us,  unawares  and  uncherished, 
Like  the  babe  'neath  thy  girdle  that  groweth  unseen ; 

So  the  hope  of  the  people  now  buddeth  and  groweth, 
Rest  fadeth  before  it,  and  blindness  and  fear ; 
It  biddeth  us  learn  all  the  wisdom  it  knoweth ; 
It  hath  found  us  and  held  us,  and  biddeth  us  hear: 

For  it  beareth  the  message  :  "  Rise  up  on  the  morrow 
And  go  on  your  ways  toward  the  doubt  and  the  strife ; 
Join  hope  to  our  hope  and  blend  sorrow  with  sorrow, 
And  seek  for  men's  love  in  the  short  days  of  life." 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  MARCH   WIND      41 

But  lo,  the  old  inn,  and  the  lights,  and  the  fire, 
And  the  fiddler's  old  tune  and  the  shuffling  of  feet ; 
Soon  for  us  shall  be  quiet  and  rest  and  desire, 
And  to-morrow's  uprising  to  deeds  shall  be  sweet 


A  DEATH  SONG 

WHAT  cometh  here  from  west  to  east  awending ? 
And  who  are  these,  the  marchers  stern  and  slow  ? 
We  bear  the  message  that  the  rich  are  sending 
Aback  to  those  who  bade  them  wake  and  know. 
Not  one,  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay, 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 


We  asked  them  for  a  life  of  toilsome  earning, 
They  bade  us  bide  their  leisure  for  our  bread ; 
We  craved  to  speak  to  tell  our  woeful  learning : 
We  come  back  speechless,  bearing  back  our  dead. 
Not  one,  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay, 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 


They  will  not  learn  ;  they  have  no  ears  to  hearken. 
They  turn  their  faces  from  the  eyes  of  fate ; 
Their  gay-lit  halls  shut  out  the  skies  that  darken. 
But,  lo !  this  dead  man  knocking  at  the  gate. 
Not  one,  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay, 

But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 

43 


A  DEATH  SONG  43 

Here  lies  the  sign  that  we  shall  break  our  prison ; 
Amidst  the  storm  he  won  a  prisoner's  rest ; 
But  in  the  cloudy  dawn  the  sun  arisen 
Brings  us  our  day  of  work  to  win  the  best. 
Not  one,  not  one,  nor  thousands  must  they  slay, 
But  one  and  all  if  they  would  dusk  the  day. 


ICELAND   FIRST  SEEN 

T  O  from  our  loitering  ship 
J — '  a  new  land  at  last  to  be  seen ; 
Toothed  rocks  down  the  side  of  the  firth 
on  the  east  guard  a  weary  wide  lea, 
And  black  slope  the  hillsides  above, 
striped  adown  with  their  desolate  green : 
And  a  peak  rises  up  on  the  west 
from  the  meeting  of  cloud  and  of  sea, 
Foursquare  from  base  unto  point 
like  the  building  of  Gods  that  have  been, 
The  last  of  that  waste  of  the  mountains 
all  cloud-wreathed  and  snow-flecked  and  grey, 
And  bright  with  the  dawn  that  began 
just  now  at  the  ending  of  day. 

Ah  !  what  came  we  forth  for  to  see 

that  our  hearts  are  so  hot  with  desire  ? 

Is  it  enough  for  our  rest, 

the  sight  of  this  desolate  strand, 

And  the  mountain-waste  voiceless  as  death 

but  for  winds  that  may  sleep  not  nor  tire  ? 

Why  do  we  long  to  wend  forth 

through  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  land, 

44 


ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN  45 

Dreadful  with  grinding  of  ice, 

and  record  of  scarce  hidden  fire, 

But  that  there  'mid  the  grey  grassy  dales 

sore  scarred  by  the  ruining  streams 

Lives  the  tale  of  the  Northland  of  old 

and  the  undying  glory  of  dreams  ? 

O  land,  as  some  cave  by  the  sea 
where  the  treasures  of  old  have  been  laid, 
The  sword  it  may  be  of  a  king 
whose  name  was  the  turning  of  fight : 
Or  the  staff  of  some  wise  of  the  world 
that  many  things  made  and  unmade. 
Or  the  ring  of  a  woman  maybe 
whose  woe  is  grown  wealth  and  delight. 
No  wheat  and  no  wine  grows  above  it, 
no  orchard  for  blossom  and  shade ; 
The  few  ships  that  sail  by  its  blackness 
but  deem  it  the  mouth  of  a  grave ; 
Yet  sure  when  the  world  shall  awaken, 
this  too  shall  be  mighty  to  save. 

Or  rather,  O  land,  if  a  marvel 

it  seemeth  that  men  ever  sought 

Thy  wastes  for  a  field  and  a  garden 

fulfilled  of  all  wonder  and  doubt, 

And  feasted  amidst  of  the  winter 

when  the  fight  of  the  year  had  been  fought, 

Whose  plunder  all  gathered  together 

was  little  to  babble  about ; 


46  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Cry  aloud  from  thy  wastes,  O  thou  land, 
"  Not  for  this  nor  for  that  was  I  wrought 
Amid  waning  of  realms  and  of  riches 
and  death  of  things  worshipped  and  sure, 
I  abide  here  the  spouse  of  a  God, 
and  I  made  and  I  make  and  endure." 

O  Queen  of  the  grief  without  knowledge, 

of  the  courage  that  may  not  avail, 

Of  the  longing  that  may  not  attain, 

of  the  love  that  shall  never  forget, 

More  joy  than  the  gladness  of  laughter 

thy  voice  hath  amidst  of  its  wail : 

More  hope  than  of  pleasure  fulfilled 

amidst  of  thy  blindness  is  set ; 

More  glorious  than  gaining  of  all 

thine  unfaltering  hand  that  shall  fail : 

For  what  is  the  mark  on  thy  brow 

but  the  brand  that  thy  Brynhild  doth  bear? 

Lone  once,  and  loved  and  undone 

by  a  love  that  no  ages  outwear. 

Ah  !  when  thy  Balder  comes  back, 

and  bears  from  the  heart  of  the  Sun 

Peace  and  the  healing  of  pain, 

and  the  wisdom  that  waiteth  no  more ; 

And  the  lilies  are  laid  on  thy  brow 

'mid  the  crown  of  the  deeds  thou  hast  done ; 

And  the  roses  spring  up  by  thy  feet 

that  the  rocks  of  the  wilderness  wore. 


ICELAND  FIRST  SEEN  47 

Ah  !  when  thy  Balder  comes  back 

and  we  gather  the  gains  he  hath  won, 

Shall  we  not  linger  a  little 

to  talk  of  thy  sweetness  of  old, 

Yea,  turn  back  awhile  to  thy  travail 

whence  the  Gods  stood  aloof  to  behold  ? 


THE  RAVEN  AND  THE   KING'S  DAUGHTER 


THE   RAVEN 

KING'S  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high, 
Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 
Why  weepest  thou  as  the  clouds  go  by  ? 
Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 
Why  weepest  thou  in  the  window-seat 
Till  the  tears  run  through  thy  fingers  sweet  ? 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

I  weep  because  I  sit  alone 

Betwixt  these  walls  of  lime  and  stone. 

Fair  folk  are  in  my  father's  hall, 

But  for  me  he  built  this  guarded  wall. 

And  here  the  gold  on  the  green  I  sew 

Nor  tidings  of  my  true-love  know. 

THE   RAVEN 

King's  daughter,  sitting  above  the  sea, 
I  shall  tell  thee  a  tale  shall  gladden  thee. 
Yestreen  I  saw  a  ship  go  forth 

When  the  wind  blew  merry  from  the  north. 

48 


THE  RAVEN  AND  KING'S  DAUGHTER       49 

And  by  the  tiller  Steingrim  sat, 
And  O,  but  my  heart  was  glad  thereat ! 
For  'twixt  ashen  plank  and  dark  blue  sea 
His  sword  sang  sweet  of  deeds  to  be. 

THE   KING'S   DAUGHTER 

O  barren  sea,  thou  bitter  bird, 

And  a  barren  tale  my  ears  have  heard. 

THE    RAVEN 

Thy  father's  men  were  hard  thereby 
In  byrny  bright  and  helmet  high. 

THE    KING'S   DAUGHTER 

O  worser  waxeth  thy  story  far, 
For  these  drew  upon  me  bolt  and  bar. 
Fly  south,  O  fowl,  to  the  field  of  death 
For  nothing  sweet  thy  grey  neb  saith. 

THE   RAVEN 

O,  there  was  Olaf  the  lily-rose, 
As  fair  as  any  oak  that  grows. 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

O  sweet  bird,  what  did  he  then 
Among  the  spears  of  my  father's  men  ? 

THE    RAVEN 

Twixt  ashen  plank  and  dark  blue  sea, 
He  sang :  My  true  love  waiteth  me. 


5o  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

As  well  as  this  dull  floor  knows  my  feet, 
I  am  not  weary  yet,  my  sweet. 

THE   RAVEN 

He  sang  :  As  once  her  hand  I  had, 
Her  lips  at  last  shall  make  me  glad. 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

As  once  our  fingers  met,  O  love, 
So  shall  our  lips  be  fain  thereof. 

THE    RAVEN 

He  sang :  Come  wrack  and  iron  and  flame. 
For  what  shall  breach  the  wall  but  fame  ? 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

Be  swift  to  rise  and  set,  O  Sun, 

Lest  life  'twixt  hope  and  death  be  done. 

THE    RAVEN 

King's  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high, 
A  gift  for  my  tale  ere  forth  I  fly, 
The  gold  from  thy  finger  fair  and  fine, 
Thou  hadst  it  from  no  love  of  thine. 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

By  my  father's  ring  another  there  is, 
I  had  it  with  my  mother's  kiss. 


THE  RAVEN  AND  KING'S  DAUGHTER       51 

Fly  forth,  O  fowl,  across  the  sea 

To  win  another  gift  of  me. 

Fly  south  to  bring  me  tidings  true, 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

Of  the  eve  grown  red  with  the  battle-dew, 

Fair  sing  the  swans  ^twixt  firth  and  field. 


THE    RAVEN 

ING'S  daughter  sitting  in  tower  so  high, 
X  V.   Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 
Tidings  to  hearken  ere  thou  die, 
Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 
In  the  Prankish  land  the  spear  points  met, 
And  wide  about  the  field  was  wet. 
And  high  ere  the  cold  moon  quenched  the  sun, 
Blew  Steingrim's  horn  for  battle  won. 

THE   KING'S   DAUGHTER 

Fair  fall  thee,  fowl !     Tell  tidings  true 
Of  deeds  that  men  that  day  did  do. 

THE    RAVEN 

Steingrim  before  his  banner  went, 

And  helms  were  broke  and  byrnies  rent. 


52  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

THE   KING'S   DAUGHTER 

A  doughty  man  and  good  at  need ; 
Tell  men  of  any  other's  deed  ? 

THE   RAVEN 

Where  Steingrim  through  the  battle  bore 
Still  Olaf  went  a  foot  before. 

THE   KING'S    DAUGHTER 

O  fair  with  deeds  the  world  doth  grow ! 
Where  is  my  true-love  gotten  now  ? 

THE   RAVEN 

Upon  the  deck  beside  the  mast 
He  lieth  now,  and  sleepeth  fast 

THE    KING'S   DAUGHTER 

Heard'st  thou  before  his  sleep  began 
That  he  spake  word  of  any  man  ? 

THE   RAVEN 

Methought  of  thee  he  sang  a  song, 
But  nothing  now  he  saith  for  long. 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

And  wottest  thou  where  he  will  wend 

With  the  world  before  him  from  end  to  end  ? 

THE    RAVEN 

Before  the  battle  joined  that  day 
Steingrim  a  word  to  him  did  say : 


THE  RAVEN  AND  KING'S  DAUGHTER       53 

"  If  we  bring  the  banner  back  in  peace, 

In  the  King's  house  much  shall  my  fame  increase ; 

Till  there  no  guarded  door  shall  be 

But  it  shall  open  straight  to  me. 

Then  to  the  bower  we  twain  shall  go 

Where  thy  love  the  golden  seam  doth  sew. 

I  shall  bring  thee  in  and  lay  thine  hand 

About  the  neck  of  that  lily-wand. 

And  let  the  King  be  lief  or  loth 

One  bed  that  night  shall  hold  you  both." 

Now  north  belike  runs  Steingrim's  prow, 

And  the  rain  and  the  wind  from  the  south  do  blow. 

THE    KING'S    DAUGHTER 

Lo,  fowl  of  death,  my  mother's  ring, 

But  the  bridal  song  I  must  learn  to  sing. 

And  fain  were  I  for  a  space  alone, 

For  O  the  wind,  and  the  wind  doth  moan. 

And  I  must  array  the  bridal  bed, 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

For  O  the  rain,  and  the  rain  drifts  red ! 

Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 


Before  the  day  from  the  night  was  born, 
Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 
She  heard  the  blast  of  Steingrim's  horn, 
Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 
Before  the  day  was  waxen  fair 
Were  Steingrim's  feet  upon  the  stair. 


54  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

"  O  bolt  and  bar  they  fall  away, 

But  heavy  are  Steingrim's  feet  to-day." 

"  O  heavy  the  feet  of  one  who  bears 

The  longing  of  days  and  the  grief  of  years  ! 

Lie  down,  lie  down,  thou  lily-wand 

That  on  thy  neck  I  may  lay  his  hand. 

Whether  the  King  be  lief  or  loth 

To-day  one  bed  shall  hold  you  both. 

O  thou  art  still  as  he  is  still, 

So  sore  as  ye  longed  to  talk  your  fill 

And  good  it  were  that  I  depart, 

Now  heart  is  laid  so  close  to  heart. 

For  sure  ye  shall  talk  so  left  alone 

Fair  summer  is  on  many  a  shield. 

Of  days  to  be  below  the  stone." 

Fair  sing  the  swans  'twixt  firth  and  field. 


SPRING'S  BEDFELLOW 


SPRING  went  about  the  woods  to-day, 
The  soft-foot  winter-thief, 
And  found  where  idle  sorrow  lay 
'Twixt  flower  and  faded  leaf. 

She  looked  on  him,  and  found  him  fair 
For  all  she  had  been  told ; 
She  knelt  adown  beside  him  there, 
And  sang  of  days  of  old. 

His  open  eyes  beheld  her  nought, 
Yet  'gan  his  lips  to  move ; 
But  life  and  deeds  were  in  her  thought, 
And  he  would  sing  of  love. 

So  sang  they  till  their  eyes  did  meet, 
And  faded  fear  and  shame ; 
More  bold  he  grew,  and  she  more  sweet, 
Until  they  sang  the  same. 

Until,  say  they  who  know  the  thing, 
Their  very  lips  did  kiss, 
And  Sorrow  laid  abed  with  Spring 
Begat  an  earthly  bliss. 

55 


MEETING  IN  WINTER 

WINTER  in  the  world  it  is, 
Round  about  the  unhoped  kiss 
Whose  dream  I  long  have  sorrowed  o'er ; 
Round  about  the  longing  sore, 
That  the  touch  of  thee  shall  turn 
Into  joy  too  deep  to  burn. 

Round  thine  eyes  and  round  thy  mouth 
Passeth  no  murmur  of  the  south, 
When  my  lips  a  little  while 
Leave  thy  quivering  tender  smile, 
As  we  twain,  hand  holding  hand, 
Once  again  together  stand. 

Sweet  is  that,  as  all  is  sweet ; 
For  the  white  drift  shalt  thou  meet, 
Kind  and  cold-cheeked  and  mine  own, 
Wrapped  about  with  deep-furred  gown 
In  the  broad-wheeled  chariot : 
Then  the  north  shall  spare  us  not ; 
The  wide-reaching  waste  of  snow 
Wilder,  lonelier  yet  shall  grow 


MEETING  IN  WINTER  57 

As  the  reddened  sun  falls  down. 
But  the  warders  of  the  town, 
When  they  flash  the  torches  out 
O'er  the  snow  amid  their  doubt, 
And  their  eyes  at  last  behold 
Thy  red-litten  hair  of  gold ; 
Shall  they  open,  or  in  fear 
Cry,  "  Alas  !  what  cometh  here  ? 
Whence  hath  come  this  Heavenly  One 
To  tell  of  all  the  world  undone  ?  " 

They  shall  open,  and  we  shall  see 
The  long  street  litten  scantily 
By  the  long  stream  of  light  before 
The  guest-hall's  half-open  door  ; 
And  our  horses'  bells  shall  cease 
As  we  reach  the  place  of  peace  ; 
Thou  shalt  tremble,  as  at  last 
The  worn  threshold  is  o'er-past, 
And  the  fire-light  blindeth  thee : 
Trembling  shalt  thou  cling  to  me 
As  the  sleepy  merchants  stare 
At  thy  cold  hands  slim  and  fair, 
Thy  soft  eyes  and  happy  lips 
Worth  all  lading  of  their  ships. 

O  my  love,  how  sweet  and  sweet 
That  first  kissing  of  thy  feet, 
When  the  fire  is  sunk  alow, 
And  the  hall  made  empty  now 


58  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Groweth  solemn,  dim  and  vast ! 
O  my  love,  the  night  shall  last 
Longer  than  men  tell  thereof 
Laden  with  our  lonely  love  1 


THE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  WINTER,  O  white  winter,  wert  thou  gone, 
No  more  within  the  wilds  were  I  alone, 
Leaping  with  bent  bow  over  stock  and  stone ! 

No  more  alone  my  love  the  lamp  should  burn, 
Watching  the  weary  spindle  twist  and  turn, 
Or  o'er  the  web  hold  back  her  tears  and  yearn : 
O  winter,  O  white  winter,  wert  thou  gone ! 

THE   MAIDENS 

Sweet  thoughts  fly  swiftlier  than  the  drifting  snow, 
And  with  the  twisting  threads  sweet  longings  grow, 
And  o'er  the  web  sweet  pictures  come  and  go, 
For  no  white  winter  are  we  long  alone. 

THE  YOUTHS 

O  stream  so  changed,  what  hast  thou  done  to  me, 
That  I  thy  glittering  ford  no  more  can  see 
Wreathing  with  white  her  fair  feet  lovingly  ? 

59 


60  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

See,  in  the  rain  she  stands,  and,  looking  down 
With  frightened  eyes  upon  thy  whirlpools  brown, 
Drops  to  her  feet  again  her  girded  gown. 
O  hurrying  turbid  stream,  what  hast  thou  done  ? 

THE    MAIDENS 

The  clouds  lift,  telling  of  a  happier  day 
When  through  the  thin  stream  I  shall  take  my  way, 
Girt  round  with  gold,  and  garlanded  with  may, 
What  rushing  stream  can  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  burning  Sun,  O  master  of  unrest, 
Why  must  we,  toiling,  cast  away  the  best, 
Now,  when  the  bird  sleeps  by  her  empty  nest  ? 

See,  with  my  garland  lying  at  her  feet, 
In  lonely  labour  stands  mine  own,  my  sweet, 
Above  the  quern  half-filled  with  half-ground  wheat. 
O  red  taskmaster,  that  thy  flames  were  done ! 

THE    MAIDENS 

O  love,  to-night  across  the  half-shorn  plain 
Shall  I  not  go  to  meet  the  yellow  wain, 
A  look  of  love  at  end  of  toil  to  gain  ? 
What  flaming  sun  can  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

THE   YOUTHS 

To-morrow,  said  I,  is  grape  gathering  o'er ; 
To-morrow,  and  our  loves  are  twinned  no  more. 
To-morrow  came,  to  bring  us  woe  and  war. 


THE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER  61 

What  have  I  done,  that  I  should  stand  with  these 
Hearkening  the  dread  shouts  borne  upon  the  breeze,, 
While  she,  far  off,  sits  weeping  'neath  her  trees  ? 
Alas.  O  kings,  what  is  it  ye  have  done  ? 

THE   MAIDENS 

Come,  love,  delay  not ;  come,  and  slay  my  dread  ! 
Already  is  the  banquet  table  spread  ; 
In  the  cool  chamber  flower-strewn  is  my  bed : 
Come,  love,  what  king  shall  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  city,  city,  open  thou  thy  gate  ! 

See,  with  life  snatched  from  out  the  hand  of  fate ! 

How  on  thy  glittering  triumph  I  must  wait ! 

Are  not  her  hands  stretched  out  to  me  ?     Her  eyes, 
Grow  they  not  weary  as  each  new  hope  dies, 
And  lone  before  her  still  the  long  road  lies  ? 
O  golden  city,  fain  would  I  be  gone  ! 

THE    MAIDENS 

And  thou  art  happy,  amid  shouts  and  songs, 
And  all  that  unto  conquering  men  belongs. 
Night  hath  no  fear  for  me,  and  day  no  wrongs. 
What  brazen  city  gates  can  keep  us,  lone  ? 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  long,  long  road,  how  bare  thou  art,  and  grey ! 
Hill  after  hill  thou  climbest,  and  the  day 
Is  ended  now,  O  moonlit  endle-^  way  ! 


62  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

And  she  is  standing  where  the  rushes  grow, 
And  still  with  white  hand  shades  her  anxious  brow, 
Though  'neath  the  world  the  sun  is  fallen  now, 
O  dreary  road,  when  will  thy  leagues  be  done  ? 

THE   MAIDENS 

O  tremblest  thou,  grey  road,  or  do  my  feet 
Tremble  with  joy,  thy  flinty  face  to  meet  ? 
Because  my  love's  eyes  soon  mine  eyes  shall  greet  ? 
No  heart  thou  hast  to  keep  us  long  alone. 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  wilt  thou  ne'er  depart,  thou  heavy  night  ? 
When  will  thy  slaying  bring  on  the  morning  bright, 
That  leads  my  weary  feet  to  my  delight  ? 

Why  lingerest  thou,  filling  with  wandering  fears 
My  lone  love's  tired  heart ;  her  eyes  with  tears 
For  thoughts  like  sorrow  for  the  vanished  years  ? 
Weaver  of  ill  thoughts,  when  wilt  thou  be  gone  ? 

THE   MAIDENS 

Love,  to  the  east  are  thine  eyes  turned  as  mine, 
In  patient  watching  for  the  night's  decline  ? 
And  hast  thou  noted  this  grey  widening  line  ? 
Can  any  darkness  keep  us  long  alone  ? 

THE   YOUTHS 

O  day,  O  day,  is  it  a  little  thing 

That  thou  so  long  unto  thy  life  must  cling, 

Because  I  gave  thee  such  a  welcoming  ? 


THE  TWO  SIDES  OF  THE  RIVER  63 

I  called  thee  king  of  all  felicity, 
I  praised  thee  that  thou  broughtest  joy  so  nigh ; 
Thine  hours  are  turned  to  years,  thou  wilt  not  die ; 
O  day  so  longed  for,  would  that  thou  wert  gone ! 

THE   MAIDENS 

The  light  fails,  love ;  the  long  day  soon  shall  be 
Nought  but  a  pensive  happy  memory 
Blessed  for  the  tales  it  told  to  thee  and  me. 
How  hard  it  was,  O  love,  to  be  alone. 


LOVE  FULFILLED 

HAST  thou  longed  through  weary  days 
For  the  sight  of  one  loved  face  ? 
Hast  thou  cried  aloud  for  rest, 
Mid  the  pain  of  sundering  hours ; 
Cried  aloud  for  sleep  and  death, 
Since  the  sweet  unhoped  for  best 
Was  a  shadow  and  a  breath  ? 
O,  long  now,  for  no  fear  lowers 
O'er  these  faint  feet-kissing  flowers. 
O,  rest  now ;  and  yet  in  sleep 
All  thy  longing  shalt  thou  keep. 

Thou  shalt  rest  and  have  no  fear 
Of  a  dull  awaking  near, 
Of  a  life  for  ever  blind, 
Uncontent  and  waste  and  wide. 
Thou  shalt  wake  and  think  it  sweet 
That  thy  love  is  near  and  kind. 
Sweeter  still  for  lips  to  meet ; 
Sweetest  that  thine  heart  doth  hide 
Longing  all  unsatisfied 
With  all  longing's  answering 
Howsoever  close  ye  cling. 
64 


LOVE  FULFILLED  65 

Thou  rememberest  how  of  old 
E'en  thy  very  pain  grew  cold, 
How  thou  might'st  not  measure  bliss 
E'en  when  eyes  and  hands  drew  nigh. 
Thou  rememberest  all  regret 
For  the  scarce  remembered  kiss, 
The  lost  dream  of  how  they  met, 
Mouths  once  parched  with  misery. 
Then  seemed  Love  born  but  to  die, 
Now  unrest,  pain,  bliss  are  one, 
Love,  unhidden  and  alone. 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS 

IN  Denmark  gone  is  many  a  year, 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 
Two  sons  of  Gorm  the  King  there  were, 
S0  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

Both  these  were  gotten  in  lawful  bed 
Of  Thyrre  Denmark's  Surety-head. 

Fair  was  Knut  of  face  and  limb 

As  the  breast  of  the  Queen  that  suckled  him. 

But  Harald  was  hot  of  hand  and  heart 
As  lips  of  lovers  ere  they  part. 

Knut  sat  at  home  in  all  men's  love, 
But  over  the  seas  must  Harald  rove. 

And  for  every  deed  by  Harald  won, 
Gorm  laid  more  love  on  Knut  alone. 

On  a  high-tide  spake  the  King  in  hall, 
"  Old  I  grow  as  the  leaves  that  fall. 

66 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS  67 

"  Knut  shall  reign  when  I  am  dead, 
So  shall  the  land  have  peace  and  aid. 

"  But  many  a  ship  shall  Harald  have, 

For  I  deem  the  sea  well  wrought  for  his  grave." 

Then  none  spake  save  the  King  again, 
"  If  Knut  die  all  my  days  be  vain. 

"And  whoso  the  tale  of  his  death  shall  tell, 
Hath  spoken  a  word  to  gain  him  hell. 

"  Lo  here  a  doom  I  will  not  break," 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 
"  For  life  or  death  or  any  man's  sake," 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


O  merry  days  in  the  summer-tide ! 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 

When  the  ships  sail  fair  and  the  young  men  ride, 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

Now  Harald  has  got  him  east  away, 

And  each  morrow  of  fight  was  a  gainful  day. 

But  Knut  is  to  his  fosterer  gone 
To  deal  in  deeds  of  peace  alone. 

So  wear  the  days,  and  well  it  is 

Such  lovely  lords  should  dwell  in  bliss. 


68  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

O  merry  in  the  winter-tide 

When  men  to  Yule-feast  wend  them  wide. 

And  here  lieth  Knut  in  the  Lima-firth 
When  the  lift  is  low  o'er  the  Danish  earth. 

"Tell  me  now,  Shipmaster  mine, 

What  are  yon  torches  there  that  shine  ?  * 

"  Lord,  no  torches  may  these  be 
But  golden  prows  across  the  sea. 

"  For  over  there  the  sun  shines  now 

And  the  gold  worms  gape  from  every  prow." 

The  sun  and  the  wind  came  down  o'er  the  sea, 
"  Tell  them  over  how  many  they  be  ! " 

"  Ten  I  tell  with  shield-hung  sides. 
Nought  but  a  fool  his  death  abides." 

"  Ten  thou  tellest,  and  we  be  three, 
Good  need  that  we  do  manfully. 

"  Good  fellows,  grip  the  shield  and  spear 
For  Harald  my  brother  draweth  near. 

"  Well  breakfast  we  when  night  is  done, 
And  Valhall's  cock  crows  up  the  sun." 

Up  spoke  Harald  in  wrathful  case : 

"  I  would  have  word  with  this  waxen  face ! 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS  69 

"  What  wilt  thou  pay,  thou  hucksterer, 
That  I  let  thee  live  another  year  ? 

"  For  oath  that  thou  wilt  never  reign 
Will  I  let  thee  live  a  year  or  twain." 

"  Kisses  and  love  shalt  thou  have  of  me 
If  yet  my  liegeman  thou  wilt  be. 

"  But  stroke  of  sword,  and  dint  of  axe, 
Or  ere  thou  makest  my  face  as  wax." 

As  thick  the  arrows  fell  around 

As  fall  sere  leaves  on  autumn  ground. 

In  many  a  cheek  the  red  did  wane 
No  maid  might  ever  kiss  again. 

"  Lay  me  aboard,"  Lord  Harald  said, 
"  The  winter  day  will  soon  be  dead ! 

"  Lay  me  aboard  the  bastard's  ship, 
And  see  to  it  lest  your  grapnels  slip  ! " 

Then  some  they  knelt  and  some  they  drowned, 
And  some  lay  dead  Lord  Knut  around. 

"  Look  here  at  the  wax-white  corpse  of  him, 
As  fair  as  the  Queen  in  face  and  limb  ! 

"  Make  now  for  the  shore,  for  the  moon  is  bright, 
And  I  would  be  home  ere  the  end  of  night. 


70  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  Two  sons  last  night  had  Thyrre  the  Queen, 
So  fair  uprise th  the  rim  of  the  sun. 
And  both  she  may  lack  ere  the  woods  wax  green," 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


A  little  before  the  morning  tide, 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 

Queen  Thyrre  looked  out  of  her  window-side, 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

"  O  men-at-arms,  what  men  be  ye  ?  " 
"  Harald  thy  son  come  over  the  sea." 

"  Why  is  thy  face  so  pale,  my  son  ?  " 
"  It  may  be  red  or  day  is  done." 

"  O  evil  words  of  an  evil  hour  ! 

Come,  sweet  son,  to  thy  mother's  bower  ! " 

None  from  the  Queen's  bower  went  that  day 
Till  dark  night  over  the  meadows  lay. 

None  thenceforth  heard  wail  or  cry 
Till  the  King's  feast  was  waxen  high. 

Then  into  the  hall  Lord  Harald  came 
When  the  great  wax  lights  were  all  aflame. 

"  W7hat  tidings,  son,  dost  thou  bear  to  me  ? 
Speak  out  before  I  drink  with  thee." 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS 

"  Tidings  small  for  a  seafarer. 
Two  falcons  in  the  sea- cliffs  were ; 

"  And  one  was  white  and  one  was  grey, 
And  they  fell  to  battle  on  a  day ; 

"  They  fought  in  the  sun,  they  fought  in  the  wind, 
No  boot  the  white  fowl's  wounds  to  bind 

"  They  fought  in  the  wind,  they  fought  in  the  sun, 
And  the  white  fowl  died  when  the  play  was  done." 

"  Small  tidings  these  to  bear  o'er  the  sea ! 
Good  hap  that  nothing  worser  they  be ! 

"  Small  tidings  for  a  travelled  man  ! 
Drink  with  me,  son,  whiles  yet  ye  can ! 

"  Drink  with  me  ere  thy  day  and  mine, 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 
Be  nought  but  a  tale  told  over  the  wine." 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


Now  fareth  the  King  with  his  men  to  sleep, 

So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun, 

And  dim  the  maids  from  the  Queen's  bower  creep, 

So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 

And  in  the  hall  is  little  light, 

And  there  standeth  the  Queen  with  cheeks  full  white. 


72  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

And  soft  the  feet  of  women  fall 

From  end  to  end  of  the  King's  great  hall. 

These  bear  the  gold-wrought  cloths  away, 
And  in  other  wise  the  hall  array ; 

Till  all  is  black  that  hath  been  gold 
So  heavy  a  tale  there  must  be  told. 

The  morrow  men  looked  on  King  Gorm  and  said, 
"  Hath  he  dreamed  a  dream  or  beheld  the  dead  ? 

"  Why  is  he  sad  who  should  be  gay  ? 
Why  are  the  old  man's  lips  so  grey  ?  " 

Slow  paced  the  King  adown  the  hall, 
Nor  looked  aside  to  either  wall, 

Till  in  high-seat  there  he  sat  him  down, 
And  deadly  old  men  deemed  him  grown. 

"  O  Queen,  what  thrall's  hands  durst  do  this, 
To  strip  my  hall  of  mirth  and  bliss  ?  " 

"  No  thrall's  hands  in  the  hangings  were, 
No  thrall's  hands  made  the  tenters  bare. 

"  King's  daughters'  hands  have  done  the  deed, 
The  hands  of  Denmark's  Surety-head." 

"  Nought  betters  the  deed  thy  word  unsaid. 
Tell  me  that  Knut  my  son  is  dead ! " 


THE  KING  OF  DENMARK'S  SONS  73 

She  said  :  "  The  doom  on  thee,  O  King  1 
For  thine  own  lips  have  said  the  thing." 

Men  looked  to  see  the  King  arise, 
The  death  of  men  within  his  eyes. 

Men  looked  to  see  his  bitter  sword 

That  once  cleared  ships  from  board  to  board. 

But  in  the  hall  no  sword  gleamed  wide, 
His  hand  fell  down  along  his  side. 

No  red  there  came  into  his  cheek, 
He  fell  aback  as  one  made  weak. 

His  wan  cheek  brushed  the  high-seat's  side, 
And  in  the  noon  of  day  he  died. 

So  lieth  King  Gorm  beneath  the  grass, 
But  from  mouth  to  mouth  this  tale  did  pass. 

And  Harald  reigned  and  went  his  way, 
So  fair  upriseth  the  rim  of  the  sun. 
And  still  is  the  story  told  to-day, 
So  grey  is  the  sea  when  day  is  done. 


ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS 


PUBLIC 

WHENCE  comest  thou,  and  whither  goest  them ? 
Abide  !  abide !  longer  the  shadows  grow ; 
What  hopest  thou  the  dark  to  thee  will  show  ? 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 


AMANS 

Why  should  I  name  the  land  across  the  sea 

Wherein  I  first  took  hold  on  misery? 

Why  should  I  name  the  land  that  flees  from  me  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 


PUELL.E 

What  wilt  thou  do  within  the  desert  place 
Whereto  thou  turnest  now  thy  careful  face  ? 
Stay  but  a  while  to  tell  us  of  thy  case. 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

74 


ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS      75 

AMANS 

What,  nigh  the  journey's  end  shall  I  abide, 
When  in  the  waste  mine  own  love  wanders  wide, 
When  from  all  men  for  me  she  still  doth  hide  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PUELLjE 

Nay,  nay  ;  but  rather  she  forgetteth  thee, 
To  sit  upon  the  shore  of  some  warm  sea, 
Or  in  green  gardens  where  sweet  fountains  be. 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

Will  ye  then  keep  me  from  the  wilderness, 

Where  I  at  least,  alone  with  my  distress, 

The  quiet  land  of  changing  dreams  may  bless  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 


Forget  the  false  forgetter  and  be  wise, 

And  'mid  these  clinging  hands  and  loving  eyes, 

Dream,  not  in  vain,  thou  knowest  paradise. 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

Ah  !  with  your  sweet  eyes  shorten  not  the  day, 
Nor  let  your  gentle  hands  my  journey  stay  ! 
Perchance  love  is  not  wholly  cast  away. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 


76  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

PUELL.E 

Pluck  love  away  as  thou  wouldst  pluck  a  thorn 
From  out  thy  flesh ;  for  why  shouldst  thou  be  born 
To  bear  a  life  so  wasted  and  forlorn  ? 

Abide  !  abide !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

Yea,  why  then  was  I  born,  since  hope  is  pain, 
And  life  a  lingering  death,  and  faith  but  vain, 
And  love  the  loss  of  all  I  seemed  to  gain  ? 
Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PUELLJE 

Dost  thou  believe  that  this  shall  ever  be, 
That  in  our  land  no  face  thou  e'er  shalt  see, 
No  voice  thou  e'er  shalt  hear  to  gladden  thee  ? 

Abide !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

No  longer  do  I  know  of  good  or  bad, 
I  have  forgotten  that  I  once  was  glad ; 
I  do  but  chase  a  dream  that  I  have  had. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PUELUE 

Stay  !  take  one  image  for  thy  dreamful  night ; 
Come,  look  at  her,  who  in  the  world's  despite 
Weeps  for  delaying  love  and  lost  delight. 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 


ON  THE  EDGE  OF  THE  WILDERNESS      77 

AMANS 

Mock  me  not  till  to-morrow.  Mock  the  dead, 
They  will  not  heed  it,  or  turn  round  the  head, 
To  note  who  faithless  are,  and  who  are  wed. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PUELL^E 

We  mock  thee  not.  Hast  thou  not  heard  of  those 
Whose  faithful  love  the  loved  heart  holds  so  close, 
That  death  must  wait  till  one  word  lets  it  loose  ? 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

I  hear  you  not :  the  wind  from  off  the  waste 
Sighs  like  a  song  that  bids  me  make  good  haste 
The  wave  of  sweet  forgetfulness  to  taste. 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 

PUELL* 

Come  back  !  like  such  a  singer  is  the  wind, 
As  to  a  sad  tune  sings  fair  words  and  kind, 
That  he  with  happy  tears  all  eyes  may  blind ! 

Abide  !  abide  !  for  we  are  happy  here. 

AMANS 

Did  I  not  hear  her  sweet  voice  cry  from  far, 
That  o'er  the  lonely  waste  fair  fields  there  are, 
Fair  days  that  know  not  any  change  or  care  ? 

Let  me  depart,  since  ye  are  happy  here. 


78  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

PUELL^E 

Oh,  no !  not  far  thou  heardest  her,  but  nigh ; 
Nigh,  'twixt  the  waste's  edge  and  the  darkling  sky. 
Turn  back  again,  too  soon  it  is  to  die. 

Abide !  a  little  while  be  happy  here 

AMANS 

How  with  the  lapse  of  lone  years  could  I  strive, 

And  can  I  die  now  that  thou  biddest  live  ? 

What  joy  this  space  'twixt  birth  and  death  can  give. 

Can  we  depart,  who  are  so  happy  here  ? 


A  GARDEN   BY  THE  SEA 

I  KNOW  a  little  garden-close, 
Set  thick  with  lily  and  red  rose, 
Where  I  would  wander  if  I  might 
From  dewy  morn  to  dewy  night, 
And  have  one  with  me  wandering. 

And  though  within  it  no  birds  sing, 
And  though  no  pillared  house  is  there, 
And  though  the  apple-boughs  are  bare 
Of  fruit  and  blossom,  would  to  God 
Her  feet  upon  the  green  grass  trod, 
And  I  beheld  them  as  before. 

There  comes  a  murmur  from  the  shore, 
And  in  the  close  two  fair  streams  are, 
Drawn  from  the  purple  hills  afar, 
Drawn  down  unto  the  restless  sea : 
Dark  hills  whose  heath-bloom  feeds  no  bee, 
Dark  shore  no  ship  has  ever  seen, 
Tormented  by  the  billows  green 
Whose  murmur  comes  unceasingly 
Unto  the  place  for  which  I  cry. 

79 


8o  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

For  which  I  cry  both  day  and  night, 
For  which  I  let  slip  all  delight, 
Whereby  I  grow  both  deaf  and  blind, 
Careless  to  win,  unskilled  to  find, 
And  quick  to  lose  what  all  men  seek. 

Yet  tottering  as  I  am  and  weak, 

Still  have  I  left  a  little  breath 

To  seek  within  the  jaws  of  death 

An  entrance  to  that  happy  place, 

To  seek  the  unforgotten  face, 

Once  seen,  once  kissed,  once  reft  from  me 

Anigh  the  murmuring  of  the  sea. 


MOTHER  AND  SON 

NOW  sleeps  the  land  of  houses, 
and  dead  night  holds  the  street, 
And  there  thou  liest,  my  baby, 
and  sleepest  soft  and  sweet ; 
My  man  is  away  for  awhile, 
but  safe  and  alone  we  lie, 
And  none  heareth  thy  breath  but  thy  mother, 
and  the  moon  looking  down  from  the  sky 
On  the  weary  waste  of  the  town, 
as  it  looked  on  the  grass-edged  road 
Still  warm  with  yesterday's  sun, 
when  I  left  my  old  abode ; 
Hand  in  hand  with  my  love, 
that  night  of  all  nights  in  the  year ; 
When  the  river  of  love  o'erflowed 
and  drowned  all  doubt  and  fear, 
And  we  two  were  alone  in  the  world, 
and  once  if  never  again, 
We  knew  of  the  secret  of  earth 
and  the  tale  of  its  labour  and  pain. 

Lo  amidst  London  I  lift  thee, 
and  how  little  and  light  thou  art, 


82  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

And  thou  without  hope  or  fear 

thou  fear  and  hope  of  my  heart ! 

Lo  here  thy  body  beginning, 

O  son,  and  thy  soul  and  thy  life ; 

But  how  will  it  be  if  thou  livest, 

and  enterest  into  the  strife, 

And  in  love  we  dwell  together 

when  the  man  is  grown  in  thee, 

When  thy  sweet  speech  I  shall  hearken, 

and  yet  'twixt  thee  and  me 

Shall  rise  that  wall  of  distance, 

that  round  each  one  doth  grow, 

And  maketh  it  hard  and  bitter 

each  other's  thought  to  know. 


Now,  therefore,  while  yet  thou  art  little 

and  hast  no  thought  of  thine  own, 

I  will  tell  thee  a  word  of  the  world ; 

of  the  hope  whence  thou  hast  grown  ; 

Of  the  love  that  once  begat  thee, 

of  the  sorrow  that  hath  made 

Thy  little  heart  of  hunger, 

and  thy  hands  on  my  bosom  laid. 

Then  mayst  thou  remember  hereafter, 

as  whiles  when  people  say 

All  this  hath  happened  before 

in  the  life  of  another  day ; 

So  mayst  thou  dimly  remember 

this  tale  of  thy  mother's  voice, 


MOTHER  AND  SON  83 

As  oft  in  the  calm  of  dawning 
I  have  heard  the  birds  rejoice, 
As  oft  I  have  heard  the  storm-wind 
go  moaning  through  the  wood ; 
And  I  knew  that  earth  was  speaking, 
and  the  mother's  voice  was  good. 


Now,  to  thee  alone  will  I  tell  it 

that  thy  mother's  body  is  fair, 

In  the  guise  of  the  country  maidens 

Who  play  with  the  sun  and  the  air ; 

Who  have  stood  in  the  row  of  the  reapers 

in  the  August  afternoon, 

Who  have  sat  by  the  frozen  water 

in  the  high  day  of  the  moon, 

When  the  lights  of  the  Christmas  feasting 

were  dead  in  the  house  on  the  hill, 

And  the  wild  geese  gone  to  the  salt-marsh 

had  left  the  winter  still. 

Yea,  I  am  fair,  my  firstling ; 

if  thou  couldst  but  remember  me ! 

The  hair  that  thy  small  hand  clutcheth 

is  a  goodly  sight  to  see  ; 

I  am  true,  but  my  face  is  a  snare ; 

soft  and  deep  are  my  eyes, 

And  they  seem  for  men's  beguiling 

fulfilled  with  the  dreams  of  the  wise. 

Kind  are  my  lips,  and  they  look 

as  though  my  soul  had  learned 


84  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Deep  things  I  have  never  heard  of. 

My  face  and  my  hands  are  burned 

By  the  lovely  sun  of  the  acres ; 

three  months  of  London  town 

And  thy  birth-bed  have  bleached  them  indeed, 

"  But  lo,  where  the  edge  of  the  gown  " 

(So  said  thy  father)  "  is  parting 

the  wrist  that  is  white  as  the  curd 

From  the  brown  of  the  hand  that  I  love, 

bright  as  the  wing  of  a  bird." 


Such  is  thy  mother,  O  firstling, 

yet  strong  as  the  maidens  of  old, 

Whose  spears  and  whose  swords  were  the  warders 

of  homestead,  of  field,  and  of  fold. 

Oft  were  my  feet  on  the  highway, 

often  they  wearied  the  grass ; 

From  dusk  unto  dusk  of  the  summer 

three  times  in  a  week  would  I  pass 

To  the  downs  from  the  house  on  the  river 

through  the  waves  of  the  blossoming  corn. 

Fair  then  I  lay  down  in  the  even, 

and  fresh  I  arose  on  the  morn, 

And  scarce  in  the  noon  was  I  weary. 

Ah,  son,  in  the  days  of  thy  strife, 

If  thy  soul  could  but  harbour  a  dream 

of  the  blossom  of  my  life  ! 

It  would  be  as  the  sunlit  meadows 

beheld  from  a  tossing  sea» 


MOTHER  AND  SON  85 

And  thy  soul  should  look  on  a  vision 
of  the  peace  that  is  to  be. 


Yet,  yet  the  tears  on  my  cheek ! 

and  what  is  this  doth  move 

My  heart  to  thy  heart,  beloved, 

save  the  flood  of  yearning  love  ? 

For  fair  and  fierce  is  thy  father, 

and  soft  and  strange  are  his  eyes 

That  look  on  the  days  that  shall  be 

with  the  hope  of  the  brave  and  the  wise. 

It  was  many  a  day  that  we  laughed, 

as  over  the  meadows  we  walked, 

And  many  a  day  I  hearkened 

and  the  pictures  came  as  he  talked ', 

It  was  many  a  day  that  we  longed, 

and  we  lingered  late  at  eve 

Ere  speech  from  speech  was  sundered, 

and  my  hand  his  hand  could  leave. 

Then  I  wept  when  I  was  alone, 

and  I  longed  till  the  daylight  came ; 

And  down  the  stairs  I  stole, 

and  there  was  our  housekeeping  dame 

(No  mother  of  me,  the  foundling) 

kindling  the  fire  betimes 

Ere  the  haymaking  folk  went  forth 

to  the  meadows  down  by  the  limes ; 

All  things  I  saw  at  a  glance  j 

the  quickening  fire-tongues  leapt 


86  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Through  the  crackling  heap  of  sticks, 

and  the  sweet  smoke  up  from  it  crept, 

And  close  to  the  very  hearth 

the  low  sun  flooded  the  floor, 

And  the  cat  and  her  kittens  played 

in  the  sun  by  the  open  door. 

The  garden  was  fair  in  the  morning, 

and  there  in  the  road  he  stood 

Beyond  the  crimson  daisies 

and  the  bush  of  southernwood. 

Then  side  by  side  together 

through  the  grey-walled  place  we  went, 

And  O  the  fear  departed, 

and  the  rest  and  sweet  content ! 


Son,  sorrow  and  wisdom  he  taught  me, 

and  sore  I  grieved  and  learned 

As  we  twain  grew  into  one ; 

and  the  heart  within  me  burned 

With  the  very  hopes  of  his  heart 

Ah,  son,  it  is  piteous, 

But  never  again  in  my  life 

shall  I  dare  to  speak  to  thee  thus ; 

So  may  these  lonely  words 

about  thee  creep  and  cling, 

These  words  of  the  lonely  night 

in  the  days  of  our  wayfaring. 

Many  a  child  of  woman 

to-night  is  born  in  the  town, 


MOTHER  AND  SON  87 

The  desert  of  folly  and  wrong  ; 

and  of  what  and  whence  are  they  grown  ? 

Many  and  many  an  one 

of  wont  and  use  is  born  ; 

For  a  husband  is  taken  to  bed 

as  a  hat  or  a  ribbon  is  worn. 

Prudence  begets  her  thousands ; 

"good  is  a  housekeeper's  life, 

So  shall  I  sell  my  body 

that  I  may  be  matron  and  wife." 

"  And  I  shall  endure  foul  wedlock 

and  bear  the  children  of  need." 

Some  are  there  born  of  hate, 

many  the  children  of  greed. 

"  I,  I  too  can  be  wedded, 

though  thou  my  love  hast  got." 

"I  am  fair  and  hard  of  heart, 

and  riches  shall  be  my  lot." 

And  all  these  are  the  good  and  the  happy, 

on  whom  the  world  dawns  fair. 

O  son,  when  wilt  thou  learn 

of  those  that  are  born  of  despair, 

As  the  fabled  mud  of  the  Nile 

that  quickens  under  the  sun 

With  a  growth  of  creeping  things, 

half  dead  when  just  begun  ? 

E'en  such  is  the  care  of  Nature 

that  man  should  never  die, 

Though  she  breed  of  the  fools  of  the  earth, 

and  the  dregs  of  the  city  sty. 


88  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  thou,  O  son,  O  son, 

of  very  love  wert  born, 

When  our  hope  fulfilled  bred  hope, 

and  fear  was  a  folly  outworn. 

On  the  eve  of  the  toil  and  the  battle 

all  sorrow  and  grief  we  weighed, 

We  hoped  and  we  were  not  ashamed, 

we  knew  and  we  were  not  afraid. 


Now  waneth  the  night  and  the  moon ; 

ah,  son,  it  is  piteous 

That  never  again  in  my  life 

shall  I  dare  to  speak  to  thee  thus. 

But  sure  from  the  wise  and  the  simple 

shall  the  mighty  come  to  birth ; 

And  fair  were  my  fate,  beloved, 

if  I  be  yet  on  the  earth 

When  the  world  is  awaken  at  last, 

and  from  mouth  to  mouth  they  tell 

Of  thy  love  and  thy  deeds  and  thy  valour, 

and  thy  hope  that  nought  can  quell. 


THUNDER   IN  THE  GARDEN 

WHEN  the  boughs  of  the  garden  hang  heavy  with  rain 
And  the  blackbird  reneweth  his  song, 
And  the  thunder  departing  yet  rolleth  again, 
I  remember  the  ending  of  wrong. 

When  the  day  that  was  dusk  while  his  death  was  aloof 
Is  ending  wide-gleaming  and  strange 
For  the  clearness  of  all  things  beneath  the  world's  roof, 
I  call  back  the  wild  chance  and  the  change. 

For  once  we  twain  sat  through  the  hot  afternoon 
While  the  rain  held  aloof  for  a  while, 
Till  she,  the  soft-clad,  for  the  glory  of  June 
Changed  all  with  the  change  of  her  smile. 

For  her  smile  was  of  longing,  no  longer  of  glee, 
And  her  fingers,  entwined  with  mine  own, 
With  caresses  unquiet  sought  kindness  of  me 
For  the  gift  that  I  never  had  known. 

Then  down  rushed  the  rain,  and  the  voice  of  the  thunder 

Smote  dumb  all  the  sound  of  the  street, 

And  I  to  myself  was  grown  nought  but  a  wonder, 

As  she  leaned  down  my  kisses  to  meet. 

89 


90  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

That  she  craved  for  my  lips  that  had  craved  her  so  often, 
And  the  hand  that  had  trembled  to  touch, 
That  the  tears  filled  her  eyes  I  had  hoped  not  to  soften 
In  this  world  was  a  marvel  too  much. 

It  was  dusk  'mid  the  thunder,  dusk  e'en  as  the  night, 
When  first  brake  out  our  love  like  the  storm, 
But  no  night-hour  was  it,  and  back  came  the  light 
While  our  hands  with  each  other  were  warm. 

And  her  smile  killed  with  kisses,  came  back  as  at  first 
As  she  rose  up  and  led  me  along, 
And  out  to  the  garden,  where  nought  was  athirst, 
And  the  blackbird  renewing  his  song. 

Earth's  fragrance  went  with  her,  as  in  the  wet  grass, 
Her  feet  little  hidden  were  set ; 
She  bent  down  her  head,  'neath  the  roses  to  pass, 
And  her  arm  with  the  lily  was  wet. 

In  the  garden  we  wandered  while  day  waned  apace 
And  the  thunder  was  dying  aloof; 
Till  the  moon  o'er  the  minster-wall  lifted  his  face, 
And  grey  gleamed  out  the  lead  of  the  roof. 

Then  we  turned  from  the  blossoms,  and  cold  were  they  grown 

In  the  trees  the  wind  westering  moved ; 

Till  over  the  threshold  back  fluttered  her  gown, 

And  in  the  dark  house  was  I  loved. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR 


was  a  lord  that  hight  Maltete, 
A     Among  great  lords  he  was  right  great, 
On  poor  folk  trod  he  like  the  dirt, 
None  but  God  might  do  him  hurt 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

With  a  grace  of  prayers  sung  loud  and  late 
Many  a  widow's  house  he  ate  ; 
Many  a  poor  knight  at  his  hands 
Lost  his  house  and  narrow  lands. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  burnt  the  harvests  many  a  time, 
He  made  fair  houses  heaps  of  lime  ; 
Whatso  man  loved  wife  or  maid 
Of  Evil-head  was  sore  afraid. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  slew  good  men  and  spared  the  bad  ; 
Too  long  a  day  the  foul  dog  had, 
E'en  as  all  dogs  will  have  their  day  ; 
But  God  is  as  strong  as  man,  I  say. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


92  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

For  a  valiant  knight,  men  called  Boncceur, 
Had  hope  he  should  not  long  endure, 
And  gathered  to  him  much  good  folk, 
Hardy  hearts  to  break  the  yoke. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

But  Boncceur  deemed  it  would  be  vain 
To  strive  his  guarded  house  to  gain  ; 
Therefore,  within  a  little  while, 
He  set  himself  to  work  by  guile. 
De us  est  Deus  pauperum. 

He  knew  that  Maltete  loved  right  well 

Red  gold  and  heavy.     If  from  hell 

The  Devil  had  cried,  "  Take  this  gold  cup," 

Down  had  he  gone  to  fetch  it  up. 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Twenty  poor  men's  lives  were  nought 
To  him,  beside  a  ring  well  wrought. 
The  pommel  of  his  hunting-knife 
Was  worth  ten  times  a  poor  man's  life. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

A  squire  new-come  from  over-sea 
Boncceur  called  to  him  privily, 
And  when  he  knew  his  lord's  intent, 
Clad  like  a  churl  therefrom  he  went 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  93 

But  when  he  came  where  dwelt  Maltete, 
With  few  words  did  he  pass  the  gate, 
For  Maltete  built  him  walls  anew, 
And,  wageless,  folk  from  field  he  drew. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Now  passed  the  squire  through  this  and  that, 
Till  he  came  to  where  Sir  Maltete  sat, 
And  over  red  wine  wagged  his  beard : 
Then  spoke  the  squire  as  one  afeard. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Lord,  give  me  grace,  for  privily 

I  have  a  little  word  for  thee." 

"  Speak  out,"  said  Maltete,  "  have  no  fear, 

For  how  can  thy  life  to  thee  be  dear  ?  " 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Such  an  one  I  know,"  he  said, 
"Who  hideth  store  of  money  red." 
Maltete  grinned  at  him  cruelly : 
"  Thou  florin-maker,  come  anigh." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  E'en  such  as  thou  once  preached  of  gold, 
And  showed  me  lies  in  books  full  old, 
Nought  gat  I  but  evil  brass, 
Therefore  came  he  to  the  worser  pass." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


94  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  Hast  thou  will  to  see  his  skin  ? 
I  keep  my  heaviest  marks  therein, 
For  since  nought  else  of  wealth  had  he, 

I  deemed  full  well  he  owed  it  me." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

II  Nought  know  I  of  philosophy," 
The  other  said,  "  nor  do  I  lie. 
Before  the  moon  begins  to  shine, 
May  all  this  heap  of  gold  be  thine." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Ten  leagues  from  this  a  man  there  is, 
Who  seemeth  to  know  but  little  bliss, 
And  yet  full  many  a  pound  of  gold 
A  dry  well  nigh  his  house  doth  hold." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  John-a-Wood  is  he  called,  fair  lord, 
Nor  know  I  whence  he  hath  this  hoard." 
Then  Maltete  said,  "  As  God  made  me, 
A  wizard  over-bold  is  he  ! " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  It  were  a  good  deed,  as  I  am  a  knight, 
To  burn  him  in  a  fire  bright ; 
This  John-a-Wood  shall  surely  die, 
And  his  gold  in  my  strong  chest  shall  lie." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  95 

"  This  very  night,  I  make  mine  avow, 
The  truth  of  this  mine  eyes  shall  know." 
Then  spoke  an  old  knight  in  the  hall, 
"  Who  knoweth  what  things  may  befall  ?  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  I  rede  thee  go  with  a  great  rout, 
For  thy  foes  they  ride  thick  about." 
"  Thou  and  the  devil  may  keep  my  foes, 
Thou  redest  me  this  gold  to  lose." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  I  shall  go  with  but  some  four  or  five, 
So  shall  I  take  my  thief  alive. 
For  if  a  great  rout  he  shall  see, 
Will  he  not  hide  his  wealth  from  me  ?  " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

The  old  knight  muttered  under  his  breath, 
"Then  mayhap  ye  shall  but  ride  to  death." 
But  Maltete  turned  him  quickly  round, 
"  Bind  me  this  grey-beard  under  ground ! " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Because  ye  are  old,  ye  think  to  jape. 
Take  heed,  ye  shall  not  long  escape. 
When  I  come  back  safe,  old  carle,  perdie, 
Thine  head  shall  brush  the  linden-tree." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


96  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Therewith  he  rode  with  his  five  men, 
And  Boncoeur's  spy,  for  good  leagues  ten, 
Until  they  left  the  beaten  way, 
And  dusk  it  grew  at  end  of  day. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

There,  in  a  clearing  of  the  wood, 
Was  John's  house,  neither  fair  nor  good. 
In  a  ragged  plot  his  house  anigh, 
Thin  coleworts  grew  but  wretchedly. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


John-a-Wood  in  his  doorway  sat, 
Turning  over  this  and  that, 
And  chiefly  how  he  best  might  thrive, 
For  he  had  will  enough  to  live. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Green  coleworts  from  a  wooden  bowl 
He  ate ;  but  careful  was  his  soul, 
For  if  he  saw  another  day, 
Thenceforth  was  he  in  Boncceur's  pay. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

So  when  he  saw  how  Maltete  came, 
He  said,  "  Beginneth  now  the  game  ! w 
And  in  the  doorway  did  he  stand 
Trembling,  with  hand  joined  fast  to  hand. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  97 

When  Maltete  did  this  carle  behold 
Somewhat  he  doubted  of  his  gold, 
But  cried  out,  "  Where  is  now  thy  store 
Thou  hast  through  books  of  wicked  lore  ?  n 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Then  said  the  poor  man,  right  humbly, 
"  Fair  lord,  this  was  not  made  by  me, 
I  found  it  in  mine  own  dry  well, 
And  had  a  mind  thy  grace  to  tell. 
Dens  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Therefrom,  my  lord,  a  cup  I  took 
This  day,  that  thou  thereon  mightst  look, 
And  know  me  to  be  leal  and  true," 
And  from  his  coat  the  cup  he  drew. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Then  Maltete  took  it  in  his  hand, 
Nor  knew  he  aught  that  it  used  to  stand 
On  Boncoeur's  cupboard  many  a  day. 
"  Go  on,"  he  said,  "  and  show  the  way. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Give  me  thy  gold,  and  thou  shalt  live, 
Yea,  in  my  house  thou  well  mayst  thrive." 
John  turned  about  and  'gan  to  go 
Unto  the  wood  with  footsteps  slow. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


98  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  as  they  passed  by  John's  woodstack, 
Growled  Maltete,  "  Nothing  now  doth  lack 
Wherewith  to  light  a  merry  fire, 
And  give  my  wizard  all  his  hire." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


The  western  sky  was  red  as  blood, 
Darker  grew  the  oaken-wood ; 
"  Thief  and  carle,  where  are  ye  gone  ? 
Why  are  we  in  the  wood  alone  ? 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  What  is  the  sound  of  this  mighty  horn  ? 
Ah,  God  !  that  ever  I  was  born  ! 
The  basnets  flash  from  tree  to  tree ; 
Show  me,  thou  Christ,  the  way  to  flee ! " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Boncoeur  it  was  with  fifty  men ; 
Maltete  was  but  one  to  ten, 
And  his  own  folk  prayed  for  grace, 
With  empty  hands  in  that  lone  place. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Grace  shall  ye  have,"  Boncoeur  said, 
"All  of  you  but  Evil-head." 
Lowly  could  that  great  lord  be, 
Who  could  pray  so  well  as  he  ? 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  99 

Then  could  Maltete  howl  and  cry, 
Little  will  he  had  to  die. 
Soft  was  his  speech,  now  it  was  late, 
But  who  had  will  to  save  Maltete  ? 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

They  brought  him  to  the  house  again, 
And  toward  the  road  he  looked  in  vain. 
Lonely  and  bare  was  the  great  highway, 
Under  the  gathering  moonlight  grey. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

They  took  off  his  gilt  basnet, 
That  he  should  die  there  was  no  let ; 
They  took  off  his  coat  of  steel, 
A  damned  man  he  well  might  feel. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"Will  ye  all  be  rich  as  kings, 

Lacking  naught  of  all  good  things  ?" 

"  Nothing  do  we  lack  this  eve ; 

When  thou  art  dead,  how  can  we  grieve  ?  n 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

"  Let  me  drink  water  ere  I  die, 
None  henceforth  comes  my  lips  anigh." 
They  brought  it  him  in  that  bowl  of  wood. 
He  said,  "  This  is  but  poor  men's  blood  ! " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


TOO  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

They  brought  it  him  in  the  cup  of  gold. 
He  said,  "  The  women  I  have  sold 
Have  wept  it  full  of  salt  for  me  ; 
I  shall  die  gaping  thirstily." 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

On  the  threshold  of  that  poor  homestead 
They  smote  off  his  evil  head ; 
They  set  it  high  on  a  great  spear, 
And  rode  away  with  merry  cheer. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

At  the  dawn,  in  lordly  state, 
They  rode  to  Maltete's  castle-gate. 
"  Whoso  willeth  laud  to  win, 
Make  haste  to  let  your  masters  in ! " 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Forthwith  opened  they  the  gate, 
No  man  was  sorry  for  Maltete. 
Boncceur  conquered  all  his  lands, 
A  good  knight  was  he  of  his  hands. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

Good  men  he  loved,  and  hated  bad ; 
Joyful  days  and  sweet  he  had ; 
Good  deeds  did  he  plenteously ; 
Beneath  him  folk  lived  frank  and  free. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


THE  GOD  OF  THE  POOR  101 

He  lived  long,  with  merry  days ; 
None  said  aught  of  him  but  praise. 
God  on  him  have  full  mercy ; 
A  good  knight  merciful  was  he. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


The  great  lord,  called  Maltete,  is  dead ; 
Grass  grows  above  his  feet  and  head, 
And  a  holly-bush  grows  up  between 
His  rib-bones  gotten  white  and  clean. 
Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 

A  carle's  sheep-dog  certainly 

Is  a  mightier  thing  than  he. 

Till  London-bridge  shall  cross  the  Nen, 

Take  we  heed  of  such-like  men. 

Deus  est  Deus  pauperum. 


V 


LOVE'S  REWARD 

IT  was  a  knight  of  the  southern  land 
Rode  forth  upon  the  way 
When  the  birds  sang  sweet  on  either  hand 
About  the  middle  of  the  May. 

But  when  he  came  to  the  lily-close, 
Thereby  so  fair  a  maiden  stood, 
That  neither  the  lily  nor  the  rose 
Seemed  any  longer  fair  nor  good. 

"  All  hail,  thou  rose  and  lily-bough  ! 
What  dost  thou  weeping  here, 
For  the  days  of  May  are  sweet  enow, 
And  the  nights  of  May  are  dear  ?  " 

"  Well  may  I  weep  and  make  my  moan, 
Who  am  bond  and  captive  here ; 
Well  may  I  weep  who  lie  alone, 
Though  May  be  waxen  dear." 

"  And  is  there  none  shall  ransom  thee  ? 
Mayst  thou  no  borrow  find  ?  " 
"  Nay,  what  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
When  all  my  wealth  is  left  behind  ?  " 


LOVE'S  REWARD  103 

"  Perchance  some  ring  is  left  with  thee, 
Some  belt  that  did  thy  body  bind?" 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
My  rings  and  belt  are  left  behind."  , 

"  The  shoes  that  the  May-blooms  kissed  on  thee 
Might  yet  be  things  to  some  men's  mind." 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
My  golden  shoes  are  left  behind." 

"  The  milk-white  sark  that  covered  thee 
A  dear-bought  token  some  should  find." 
"  Nay,  no  man  may  my  borrow  be, 
My  silken  sark  is  left  behind." 

"  The  kiss  of  thy  mouth  and  the  love  of  thee 
Better  than  world's  wealth  should  I  find." 
"  Nay,  thou  mayst  not  my  borrow  be, 
For  all  my  love  is  left  behind. 

"  A  year  agone  come  Midsummer-night 
I  woke  by  the  Northern  sea ; 
I  lay  and  dreamed  of  my  delight 
Till  love  no  more  would  let  me  be. 

"  Seaward  I  went  by  night  and  cloud 
To  hear  the  white  swans  sing ; 
But  though  they  sang  both  clear  and  loud, 
I  hearkened  a  sweeter  thing. 


io4  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  O  sweet  and  sweet  as  none  may  tell 
Was  the  speech  so  close  'twixt  lip  and  lip : 
But  fast,  unseen,  the  black  oars  fell 
That  drave  to  shore  the  rover's  ship. 

"  My  love  lay  bloody  on  the  strand 
Ere  stars  were  waxen  wan  : 
Naught  lacketh  graves  the  Northern  land 
If  to-day  it  lack  a  lovelier  man. 

"  I  sat  and  wept  beside  the  mast 

When  the  stars  were  gone  away. 

Naught  lacketh  the  Northland  joy  gone  past 

If  it  lack  the  night  and  day." 


"  Is  there  no  place  in  any  land 
Where  thou  wouldst  rather  be  than  here  ?  " 
"  Yea,  a  lone  grave  on  a  cold  sea-strand 
My  heart  for  a  little  holdeth  dear." 

"  Of  all  the  deeds  that  women  do 
Is  there  none  shall  bring  thee  some  delight  ?  " 
"  To  lie  down  and  die  where  lay  we  two 
Upon  Midsummer  night." 

"  I  will  bring  thee  there  where  thou  wouldst  be, 
A  borrow  shalt  thou  find." 
"Wherewith  shall  I  reward  it  thee 
For  wealth  and  good-hap  left  behind  ?  " 


LOVE'S  REWARD  105 

"  A  kiss  from  lips  that  love  not  me, 
A  good-night  somewhat  kind  ; 
A  narrow  house  to  share  with  thee 
When  we  leave  the  world  behind." 


They  have  taken  ship  and  sailed  away 
Across  the  Southland  main  ; 
They  have  sailed  by  hills  were  green  and  gay, 
A  land  of  goods  and  gain. 

They  have  sailed  by  sea-cliffs  stark  and  white 
And  hillsides  fair  enow ; 
They  have  sailed  by  lands  of  little  night 
Where  great  the  groves  did  grow. 

They  have  sailed  by  islands  in  the  sea 
That  the  clouds  lay  thick  about ; 
And  into  a  main  where  few  ships  be 
Amidst  of  dread  and  doubt. 

With  broken  mast  and  battered  side 
They  drave  amidst  the  tempest's  heart ; 
But  why  should  death  to  these  betide 
Whom  love  did  hold  so  well  apart  ? 

The  flood  it  drave  them  toward  the  strand, 
The  ebb  it  drew  them  fro ; 
The  swallowing  seas  that  tore  the  land 
Cast  them  ashore  and  let  them  go. 


106  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

**  Is  this  the  land  ?  is  this  the  land, 
Where  life  and  I  must  part  a-twain  ?  " 
"  Yea,  this  is  e'en  the  sea-washed  strand 
That  made  me  yoke-fellow  of  pain. 

"  The  strand  is  this,  the  sea  is  this, 
The  grey  bent  and  the  mountains  grey ; 
But  no  mound  here  his  grave-mound  is ; 
Where  have  they  borne  my  love  away  ?  " 

"  What  man  is  this  with  shield  and  spear 
Comes  riding  down  the  bent  to  us  ? 
A  goodly  man  forsooth  he  were 
But  for  his  visage  piteous." 

"  Ghost  of  my  love,  so  kind  of  yore, 
Art  thou  not  somewhat  gladder  grown 
To  feel  my  feet  upon  this  shore  ? 
O  love,  thou  shalt  not  long  be  lone." 

"  Ghost  of  my  love,  each  day  I  come 
To  see  where  God  first  wrought  us  wrong 
Now  kind  thou  com'st  to  call  me  home, 
Be  sure  I  shall  not  tarry  long." 


"  Come  here,  my  love ;  come  here  for  rest, 
So  sore  as  my  body  longs  for  thee ! 
My  heart  shall  beat  against  thy  breast, 
As  arms  of  thine  shall  comfort  me." 


LOVE'S  REWARD  107 

"  Love,  let  thy  lips  depart  no  more 
From  those  same  eyes  they  once  did  kiss, 
The  very  bosom  wounded  sore 
When  sorrow  clave  the  heart  of  bliss  ! " 


O  was  it  day,  or  was  it  night, 
As  there  they  told  their  love  again  ? 
The  high-tide  of  the  sun's  delight, 
Or  whirl  of  wind  and  drift  of  rain  ? 

"  Speak  sweet,  my  love,  of  how  it  fell, 
And  how  thou  cam'st  across  the  sea, 
And  what  kind  heart  hath  served  thee  well, 
And  who  thy  borrow  there  might  be  ?  " 

Naught  but  the  wind  and  sea  made  moan 
As  hastily  she  turned  her  round ; 
From  light  clouds  wept  the  morn  alone, 
Not  the  dead  corpse  upon  the  ground. 

"  O  look,  my  love,  for  here  is  he 
Who  once  of  all  the  world  was  kind, 
And  led  my  sad  heart  o'er  the  sea ! 
And  now  must  he  be  left  behind." 

She  kissed  his  lips  that  yet  did  smile, 
She  kissed  his  eyes  that  were  not  sad : 
"  O  thou  who  sorrow  didst  beguile, 
And  now  wouldst  have  me  wholly  glad  ! 


io8  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"A  little  gift  is  this,"  she  said, 
"  Thou  once  hadst  deemed  great  gift  enow ; 
Yet  surely  shalt  thou  rest  thine  head 
Where  I  one  day  shall  lie  alow. 

"  There  shalt  thou  wake  to  think  of  me, 
And  by  thy  face  my  face  shall  find ; 
And  I  shall  then  thy  borrow  be 
When  all  the  world  is  left  behind." 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE   RIVER 


i 


T  was  up  in  the  morn  we  rose  betimes 
From  the  hall-floor  hard  by  the  row  of  limes. 


It  was  but  John  the  Red  and  I, 

And  we  were  the  brethren  of  Gregory  ; 

And  Gregory  the  Wright  was  one 
Of  the  valiant  men  beneath  the  sun, 

And  what  he  bade  us  that  we  did 
For  ne'er  he  kept  his  counsel  hid. 

So  out  we  went,  and  the  clattering  latch 
Woke  up  the  swallows  under  the  thatch. 

It  was  dark  in  the  porch,  but  our  scythes  we  felt, 
And  thrust  the  whetstone  under  the  belt. 

Through  the  cold  garden  boughs  we  went 
Where  the  tumbling  roses  shed  their  scent. 

Then  out  a-gates  and  away  we  strode 

O'er  the  dewy  straws  on  the  dusty  road, 
109 


no  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  there  was  the  mead  by  the  town-reeve's  close 
Where  the  hedge  was  sweet  with  the  wilding  rose. 

Then  into  the  mowing  grass  we  went 
Ere  the  very  last  of  the  night  was  spent. 

Young  was  the  moon,  and  he  was  gone, 
So  we  whet  our  scythes  by  the  stars  alone : 

But  or  ever  the  long  blades  felt  the  hay 
Afar  in  the  East  the  dawn  was  grey. 

Or  ever  we  struck  our  earliest  stroke 
The  thrush  in  the  hawthorn-bush  awoke. 

While  yet  the  bloom  of  the  swathe  was  dim 
The  blackbird's  bill  had  answered  him. 

Ere  half  of  the  road  to  the  river  was  shorn 
The  sunbeam  smote  the  twisted  thorn. 


Now  wide  was  the  way  'twixt  the  standing  grass 
For  the  townsfolk  unto  the  mote  to  pass, 

And  so  when  all  our  work  was  done 
We  sat  to  breakfast  in  the  sun, 

While  down  in  the  stream  the  dragon-fly 
'Twixt  the  quivering  rushes  flickered  by  ; 

And  though  our  knives  shone  sharp  and  white 
The  swift  bleak  heeded  not  the  sight. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER         in 

So  when  the  bread  was  done  away 
We  looked  along  the  new-shorn  hay, 

And  heard  the  voice  of  the  gathering-horn 
Come  over  the  garden  and  the  corn  ; 

For  the  wind  was  in  the  blossoming  wheat 
And  drave  the  bees  in  the  lime-boughs  sweet. 

Then  loud  was  the  horn's  voice  drawing  near, 
And  it  hid  the  talk  of  the  prattling  weir. 

And  now  was  the  horn  on  the  pathway  wide 
That  we  had  shorn  to  the  river-side. 

So  up  we  stood,  and  wide  around 

We  sheared  a  space  by  the  Elders'  Mound ; 

And  at  the  feet  thereof  it  was 

That  highest  grew  the  June-tide  grass  j 

And  over  all  the  mound  it  grew 
With  clover  blent,  and  dark  of  hue. 

But  never  aught  of  the  Elders'  Hay 
To  rick  or  barn  was  borne  away. 

But  it  was  bound  and  burned  to  ash 
In  the  barren  close  by  the  reedy  plash. 

For  'neath  that  mound  the  valiant  dead 
Lay  hearkening  words  of  valiance  said 


ii2  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

When  wise  men  stood  on  the  Elders'  Mound, 
And  the  swords  were  shining  bright  around. 


And  now  we  saw  the  banners  borne 
On  the  first  of  the  way  that  we  had  shorn ; 
So  we  laid  the  scythe  upon  the  sward 
And  girt  us  to  the  battle-sword. 

For  after  the  banners  well  we  knew 
Were  the  Freemen  wending  two  and  two. 

There  then  that  highway  of  the  scythe 
With  many  a  hue  was  brave  and  blythe. 

And  first  below  the  Silver  Chief 
Upon  the  green  was  the  golden  sheaf. 

And  on  the  next  that  went  by  it 
The  White  Hart  in  the  Park  did  sit. 

Then  on  the  red  the  White  Wings  flew, 
And  on  the  White  was  the  Cloud-fleck  blue. 

Last  went  the  Anchor  of  the  Wrights 
Beside  the  Ship  of  the  Faring-Knights. 

Then  thronged  the  folk  the  June-tide  field 
With  naked  sword  and  painted  shield, 

Till  they  came  adown  to  the  river-side, 
And  there  by  the  mound  did  they  abide. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER          113 

Now  when  the  swords  stood  thick  and  white 
As  the  mace  reeds  stand  in  the  streamless  bight, 

There  rose  a  man  on  the  mound  alone 
And  over  his  head  was  the  grey  mail  done. 

When  over  the  new-shorn  place  of  the  field 
Was  nought  but  the  steel  hood  and  the  shield. 

The  face  on  the  mound  shone  ruddy  and  hale, 
But  the  hoar  hair  showed  from  the  hoary  mail 

And  there  rose  a  hand  by  the  ruddy  face 
And  shook  a  sword  o'er  the  peopled  place. 

And  there  came  a  voice  from  the  mound  and  said : 
"  O  sons,  the  days  of  my  youth  are  dead, 

And  gone  are  the  faces  I  have  known 

In  the  street  and  the  booths  of  the  goodly  town. 

O  sons,  full  many  a  flock  have  I  seen 
Feed  down  this  water-girdled  green. 

Full  many  a  herd  of  long-horned  neat 
Have  I  seen  'twixt  water-side  and  wheat 

Here  by  this  water-side  full  oft 
Have  I  heaved  the  flowery  hay  aloft. 

And  oft  this  water-side  anigh 

Have  I  bowed  adown  the  wheat-stalks  high. 


ri4  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  yet  meseems  I  live  and  learn 
And  lore  of  younglings  yet  must  earn. 

For  tell  me,  children,  whose  are  these 
Fair  meadows  of  the  June's  increase  ? 

Whose  are  these  flocks  and  whose  the  neat, 
And  whose  the  acres  of  the  wheat  ?  " 


Scarce  did  we  hear  his  latest  word, 
On  the  wide  shield  so  rang  the  sword. 

So  rang  the  sword  upon  the  shield 
That  the  lark  was  hushed  above  the  field. 

Then  sank  the  shouts  and  again  we  heard 
The  old  voice  come  from  the  hoary  beard 


"  Yea,  whose  are  yonder  gables  then, 
And  whose  the  holy  hearths  of  men  ? 
Whose  are  the  prattling  children  there, 
And  whose  the  sunburnt  maids  and  fair  ? 

Whose  thralls  are  ye,  hereby  that  stand, 
Bearing  the  freeman's  sword  in  hand  ?  " 

As  glitters  the  sun  in  the  rain-washed  grass, 
So  in  the  tossing  swords  it  was ; 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER          115 

As  the  thunder  rattles  along  and  adown 
E'en  so  was  the  voice  of  the  weaponed  town. 

And  there  was  the  steel  of  the  old  man's  sword, 
And  there  was  his  hollow  voice,  and  his  word : 


"  Many  men,  many  minds,  the  old  saw  saith, 
Though  hereof  ye  be  sure  as  death. 

For  what  spake  the  herald  yestermorn 
But  this,  that  ye  were  thrall-folk  born ; 

That  the  lord  that  owneth  all  and  some 
Would  send  his  men  to  fetch  us  home 

Betwixt  the  haysel,  and  the  tide 

When  they  shear  the  corn  in  the  country-side  ? 

O  children,  Who  was  the  lord  ?  ye  say, 
What  prayer  to  him  did  our  fathers  pray  ? 

Did  they  hold  out  hands  his  gyves  to  bear  ? 
Did  their  knees  his  high  hall's  pavement  wear  ? 

Is  his  house  built  up  in  heaven  aloft  ? 
Doth  he  make  the  sun  rise  oft  and  oft  ? 

Doth  he  hold  the  rain  in  his  hollow  hand  ? 
Hath  he  cleft  this  water  through  the  land  ? 


n6  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Or  doth  he  stay  the  summer-tide, 
And  make  the  winter  days  abide  ? 

O  children,  Who  is  the  lord  ?  ye  say, 
Have  we  heard  his  name  before  to-day  ? 

O  children,  if  his  name  I  know, 

He  hight  Earl  Hugh  of  the  Shivering  Low 

For  that  herald  bore  on  back  and  breast 
The  Black  Burg  under  the  Eagle's  Nest." 


As  the  voice  of  the  winter  wind  that  tears 

At  the  eaves  of  the  thatch  and  its  emptied  ears, 

E'en  so  was  the  voice  of  laughter  and  scorn 
By  the  water-side  in  the  mead  new-shorn ; 

And  over  the  garden  and  the  wheat 
Went  the  voice  of  women  shrilly- sweet. 


But  now  by  the  hoary  elder  stood 
A  carle  in  raiment  red  as  blood. 

Red  was  his  weed  and  his  glaive  was  white, 
And  there  stood  Gregory  the  Wright. 

So  he  spake  in  a  voice  was  loud  and  strong : 
"  Young  is  the  day  though  the  road  is  long ; 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER          117 

There  is  time  if  we  tarry  nought  at  all 

For  the  kiss  in  the  porch  and  the  meat  in  the  hall. 

And  safe  shall  our  maidens  sit  at  home 
For  the  foe  by  the  way  we  wend  must  come. 

Through  the  three  Lavers  shall  we  go 
And  raise  them  all  against  the  foe. 

Then  shall  we  wend  the  Downland  ways, 
And  all  the  shepherd  spearmen  raise. 

To  Cheaping  Raynes  shall  we  come  adown 
And  gather  the  bowmen  of  the  town  ; 

And  Greenstead  next  we  come  unto 
Wherein  are  all  folk  good  and  true. 

When  we  come  our  ways  to  the  Outer  Wood 
We  shall  be  an  host  both  great  and  good ; 

Yea  when  we  come  to  the  open  field 
There  shall  be  a  many  under  shield. 

And  maybe  Earl  Hugh  shall  lie  alow 
And  yet  to  the  house  of  Heaven  shall  go. 

But  we  shall  dwell  in  the  land  we  love 
And  grudge  no  hallow  Heaven  above. 

Come  ye,  who  think  the  time  o'er  long 
Till  we  have  slain  the  word  of  wrong  ! 


n8  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Come  ye  who  deem  the  life  of  fear 
On  this  last  day  hath  drawn  o'er  near ! 

Come  after  me  upon  the  road 
That  leadeth  to  the  Erne's  abode." 


Down  then  he  leapt  from  off  the  mound 
And  back  drew  they  that  were  around 

Till  he  was  foremost  of  all  those 
Betwixt  the  river  and  the  close. 

And  uprose  shouts  both  glad  and  strong 
As  followed  after  all  the  throng ; 

And  overhead  the  banners  flapped, 

As  we  went  on  our  ways  to  all  that  happed. 


The  fields  before  the  Shivering  Low 
Of  many  a  grief  of  manfolk  know ; 

There  may  the  autumn  acres  tell 
Of  how  men  met,  and  what  befell. 

The  Black  Burg  under  the  Eagle's  nest 
Shall  tell  the  tale  as  it  liketh  best. 

And  sooth  it  is  that  the  River-land 
Lacks  many  an  autumn-gathering  hand. 


THE  FOLK-MOTE  BY  THE  RIVER          119 

And  there  are  troth-plight  maids  unwed 
Shall  deem  awhile  that  love  is  dead ; 

And  babes  there  are  to  men  shall  grow 
Nor  ever  the  face  of  their  fathers  know. 

And  yet  in  the  Land  by  the  River-side 
Doth  never  a  thrall  or  an  earl's  man  bide ; 

For  Hugh  the  Earl  of  might  and  mirth 
Hath  left  the  merry  days  of  Earth ; 

And  we  live  on  in  the  land  we  love, 
And  grudge  no  hallow  Heaven  above. 


THE  VOICE  OF  TOIL 

I  HEARD  men  saying,  Leave  hope  and  praying, 
All  days  shall  be  as  all  have  been ; 
To-day  and  to-morrow  bring  fear  and  sorrow, 
The  never-ending  toil  between. 

When  Earth  was  younger  mid  toil  and  hunger,  " 
In  hope  we  strove,  and  our  hands  were  strong ; 
Then  great  men  led  us,  with  words  they  fed  us, 
And  bade  us  right  the  earthly  wrong. 

Go  read  in  story  their  deeds  and  glory, 
Their  names  amidst  the  nameless  dead ; 
Turn  then  from  lying  to  us  slow-dying 
In  that  good  world  to  which  they  led ; 

Where  fast  and  faster  our  iron  master, 
The  thing  we  made,  for  ever  drives, 
Bids  us  grind  treasure  and  fashion  pleasure 
For  other  hopes  and  other  lives. 

Where  home  is  a  hovel  and  dull  we  grovel, 
Forgetting  that  the  world  is  fair ; 
Where  no  babe  we  cherish,  lest  its  very  soul  perish ; 
Where  mirth  is  crime,  and  love  a  snare. 


THE  VOICE  OF  TOIL  121 

Who  now  shall  lead  us,  what  god  shall  heed  us 
As  we  lie  in  the  hell  our  hands  have  won  ? 
For  us  are  no  rulers  but  fools  and  befoolers, 
The  great  are  fallen,  the  wise  men  gone. 


I  heard  men  saying,  Leave  tears  and  praying, 
The  sharp  knife  heedeth  not  the  sheep ; 
Are  we  not  stinger  than  the  rich  and  the  wronger, 
When  day  breaks  over  dreams  and  sleep  ? 

Come,  shoulder  to  shoulder  ere  the  world  grows  older ! 
Help  lies  in  nought  but  thee  and  me  ; 
Hope  is  before  us,  the  long  years  that  bore  us 
Bore  leaders  more  than  men  may  be. 

Let  dead  hearts  tarry  and  trade  and  marry, 
And  trembling  nurse  their  dreams  of  mirth, 
While  we  the  living  our  lives  are  giving 
To  bring  the  bright  new  world  to  birth. 

Come,  shoulder  to  shoulder  ere  earth  grows  older ! 
The  Cause  spreads  over  land  and  sea ; 
Now  the  world  shaketh,  and  fear  awaketh, 
And  joy  at  last  for  thee  and  me. 


GUNNAR'S   HOWE  ABOVE  THE  HOUSE 

AT  LITHEND 

' 

YE  who  have  come  o'er  the  sea 
to  behold  this  grey  minster  of  lands, 
Whose  floor  is  the  tomb  of  time  past, 
and  whose  walls  by  the  toil  of  dead  hands 
Show  pictures  amidst  of  the  ruin 
of  deeds  that  have  overpast  death, 
Stay  by  this  tomb  in  a  tomb 
to  ask  of  who  lieth  beneath. 
Ah  !  the  world  changeth  too  soon, 
that  ye  stand  there  with  unbated  breath, 
As  I  name  him  that  Gunnar  of  old, 
who  erst  in  the  haymaking  tide 
Felt  all  the  land  fragrant  and  fresh, 
as  amidst  of  the  edges  he  died. 
Too  swiftly  fame  fadeth  away, 
if  ye  tremble  not  lest  once  again 
The  grey  mound  should  open  and  show  him 
glad-eyed  without  grudging  or  pain. 
Little  labour  methinks  to  behold  him 
but  the  tale-teller  laboured  in  vain. 


GUNNAR'S  HOWE  123 

Little  labour  for  ears  that  may  hearken 

to  hear  his  death-conquering  song, 

Till  the  heart  swells  to  think  of  the  gladness 

undying  that  overcame  wrong. 

O  young  is  the  world  yet  meseemeth 

and  the  hope  of  it  flourishing  green, 

When  the  words  of  a  man  unremembered 

so  bridge  all  the  days  that  have  been, 

As  we  look  round  about  on  the  land 

that  these  nine  hundred  years  he  hath  seen. 

Dusk  is  abroad  on  the  grass 

of  this  valley  amidst  of  the  hill : 

Dusk  that  shall  never  be  dark 

till  the  dawn  hard  on  midnight  shall  fill 

The  trench  under  Eyiafell's  snow, 

and  the  grey  plain  the  sea  meeteth  grey. 

White,  high  aloft  hangs  the  moon 

that  no  dark  night  shall  brighten  ere  day, 

For  here  day  and  night  toileth  the  summer 

lest  deedless  his  time  pass  away. 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING 


OME  hither,  lads,  and  hearken, 

for  a  tale  there  is  to  tell, 
Of  the  wonderful  days  a-coming,  when  all 
shall  be  better  than  well. 

And  the  tale  shall  be  told  of  a  country, 
a  land  in  the  midst  of  the  sea, 
And  folk  shall  call  it  England 
in  the  days  that  are  going  to  be. 

There  more  than  one  in  a  thousand 
in  the  days  that  are  yet  to  come, 
Shall  have  some  hope  of  the  morrow, 
some  joy  of  the  ancient  home. 


For  then,  laugh  not,  but  listen 
to  this  strange  tale  of  mine, 
All  folk  that  are  in  England 
shall  be  better  lodged  than  swine. 

124 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING  125 

Then  a  man  shall  work  and  bethink  him, 
and  rejoice  in  the  deeds  of  his  hand, 
Nor  yet  come  home  in  the  even 
too  faint  and  weary  to  stand. 

Men  in  that  time  a-coming 
shall  work  and  have  no  fear 
For  to-morrow's  lack  of  earning 
and  the  hunger-wolf  anear. 

I  tell  you  this  for  a  wonder, 
that  no  man  then  shall  be  glad 
Of  his  fellow's  fall  and  mishap 
to  snatch  at  the  work  he  had. 

For  that  which  the  worker  winneth 
shall  then  be  his  indeed, 
Nor  shall  half  be  reaped  for  nothing 
by  him  that  sowed  no  seed. 

O  strange  new  wonderful  justice ! 
But  for  whom  shall  we  gather  the  gain  ? 
For  ourselves  and  for  each  of  our  fellows, 
and  no  hand  shall  labour  in  vain. 

Then  all  Mine  and  all  Thine  shall  be  Ours, 
and  no  more  shall  any  man  crave 
For  riches  that  serve  for  nothing 
but  to  fetter  a  friend  for  a  slave. 


126  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  what  wealth  then  shall  be  left  us 
when  none  shall  gather  gold 
To  buy  his  friend  in  the  market, 
and  pinch  and  pine  the  sold  ? 

Nay,  what  save  the  lovely  city, 

and  the  little  house  on  the  hill, 

And  the  wastes  and  the  woodland  beauty, 

and  the  happy  fields  we  till ; 

And  the  homes  of  ancient  stories, 
the  tombs  of  the  mighty  dead ; 
And  the  wise  men  seeking  out  marvels, 
and  the  poet's  teeming  head ; 

And  the  painter's  hand  of  wonder  \ 
and  the  marvellous  fiddle-bow, 
And  the  banded  choirs  of  music : 
all  those  that  do  and  know. 

For  all  these  shall  be  ours  and  all  men's, 

nor  shall  any  lack  a  share 

Of  the  toil  and  the  gain  of  living 

in  the  days  when  the  world  grows  fair. 


Ah  !  such  are  the  days  that  shall  be ! 
But  what  are  the  deeds  of  to-day 
In  the  days  of  the  years  we  dwell  in, 
that  wear  our  lives  away  ? 


THE  DAY  IS  COMING  127 

Why,  then,  and  for  what  are  we  waiting  ? 
There  are  three  words  to  speak ; 
WE  WILL  IT,  and  what  is  the  foeman 
but  the  dreani-strong  wakened  and  weak  ? 

O  why  and  for  what  are  we  waiting  ? 
while  our  brothers  droop  and  die, 
And  on  every  wind  of  the  heavens 
a  wasted  life  goes  by. 

How  long  shall  they  reproach  us 
where  crowd  on  crowd  they  dwell, 
Poor  ghosts  of  the  wicked  city, 
the  gold-crushed  hungry  hell  ? 

Through  squalid  life  they  laboured, 
in  sordid  grief  they  died, 
Those  sons  of  a  mighty  mother, 
those  props  of  England's  pride. 

They  are  gone ;  there  is  none  can  undo  it, 

nor  save  our  souls  from  the  curse ; 

But  many  a  million  cometh, 

and  shall  they  be  better  or  worse  ? 

It  is  we  must  answer  and  hasten, 
and  open  wide  the  door 
For  the  rich  man's  hurrying  terror, 
and  the  slow-foot  hope  of  the  poor. 


128  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Yea,  the  voiceless  wrath  of  the  wretched, 
and  their  unlearned  discontent, 
We  must  give  it  voice  and  wisdom 
till  the  waiting-tide  be  spent. 


Come,  then,  since  all  things  call  us, 
the  living  and  the  dead, 
And  o'er  the  weltering  tangle 
a  glimmering  light  is  shed. 

Come,  then,  let  us  cast  off  fooling, 
and  put  by  ease  and  rest, 
For  the  Cause  alone  is  worthy 
till  the  good  days  bring  the  best. 

Come,  join  in  the  only  battle 
wherein  no  man  can  fail, 
Where  whoso  fadeth  and  dieth, 
yet  his  deed  shall  still  prevail. 

Ah  !  come,  cast  off  all  fooling, 

for  this,  at  least,  we  know : 

That  the  Dawn  and  the  Day  is  coming, 

and  forth  the  Banners  go. 


EARTH  THE  HEALER,  EARTH  THE  KEEPER 

SO  swift  the  hours  are  moving 
Unto  the  time  un-proved : 
Farewell  my  love  unloving, 
Farewell  my  love  beloved  ! 

What !  are  we  not  glad-hearted  ? 

Is  there  no  deed  to  do  ? 

Is  not  all  fear  departed 

And  Spring-tide  blossomed  new  ? 

The  sails  swell  out  above  us, 
The  sea-ridge  lifts  the  keel ; 
For  They  have  called  who  love  us, 
Who  bear  the  gifts  that  heal : 

A  crown  for  him  that  winneth, 
A  bed  for  him  that  fails, 
A  glory  that  beginneth 
In  never-dying  tales. 

Yet  now  the  pain  is  ended 

And  the  glad  hand  grips  the  sword, 

Look  on  thy  life  amended 

And  deal  out  due  award 

129  , 


i3o  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Think  of  the  thankless  morning, 
The  gifts  of  noon  unused ; 
Think  of  the  eve  of  scorning, 
The  night  of  prayer  refused. 


And  yet.     The  life  before  it, 
Dost  thou  remember  aught, 
What  terrors  shivered  o'er  it 
Born  from  the  hell  of  thought  ? 

And  this  that  cometh  after : 
How  dost  thou  live,  and  dare 
To  meet  its  empty  laughter, 
To  face  its  friendless  care? 

In  fear  didst  thou  desire, 
At  peace  dost  thou  regret, 
The  wasting  of  the  fire, 
The  tangling  of  the  net. 

Love  came  and  gat  fair  greeting ; 
Love  went ;  and  left  no  shame. 
Shall  both  the  twilights  meeting 
The  summer  sunlight  blame  ? 

What !  cometh  love  and  goeth 
Like  the  dark  night's  empty  wind, 
Because  thy  folly  soweth 
The  harvest  of  the  blind? 


EARTH  THE  HEALER  131 

Hast  thou  slain  love  with  sorrow  ? 
Have  thy  tears  quenched  the  sun  ? 
Nay  even  yet  to-morrow 
Shall  many  a  deed  be  done. 


This  twilight  sea  thou  sailest, 
Has  it  grown  dim  and  black 
For  that  wherein  thou  failest, 
And  the  story  of  thy  lack  ? 

Peace  then  !  for  thine  old  grieving 
Was  born  of  Earth  the  kind, 
And  the  sad  tale  thou  art  leaving 
Earth  shall  not  leave  behind. 

Peace  !  for  that  joy  abiding 
Whereon  thou  layest  hold 
Earth  keepeth  for  a  tiding 
For  the  day  when  this  is  old. 

Thy  soul  and  life  shall  perish, 
And  thy  name  as  last  night's  wind ; 
But  Earth  the  deed  shall  cherish 
That  thou  to-day  shalt  find. 

And  all  thy  joy  and  sorrow 
So  great  but  yesterday, 
So  light  a  thing  to-morrow, 
Shall  never  pass  away. 


1 32  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Lo  !  lo  !  the  dawn-blink  yonder, 
The  sunrise  draweth  nigh, 
And  men  forget  to  wonder 
That  they  were  born  to  die. 

Then  praise  the  deed  that  wendeth 
Through  the  daylight  and  the  mirth ! 
The  tale  that  never  endeth 
Whoso  may  dwell  on  earth. 


ALL  FOR  THE  CAUSE 

HEAR  a  word,  a  word  in  season, 
for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh, 
When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us, 
some  to  live,  and  some  to  die ! 

He  that  dies  shall  not  die  lonely, 
many  an  one  hath  gone  before ; 
He  that  lives  shall  bear  no  burden 
heavier  than  the  life  they  bore. 

Nothing  ancient  is  their  story, 
e'en  but  yesterday  they  bled, 
Youngest  they  of  earth's  beloved, 
last  of  all  the  valiant  dead. 

E'en  the  tidings  we  are  telling 

was  the  tale  they  had  to  tell, 

E'en  the  hope  that  our  hearts  cherish, 

was  the  hope  for  which  they  fell. 

In  the  grave  where  tyrants  thrust  them, 
lies  their  labour  and  their  pain, 
But  undying  from  their  sorrow 

springeth  up  the  hope  again. 
133 


134  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Mourn  not  therefore,  nor  lament  it, 
that  the  world  outlives  their  life ; 
Voice  and  vision  yet  they  give  us, 
making  strong  our  hands  for  strife. 

Some  had  name,  and  fame,  and  honour, 
learn 'd  they  were,  and  wise  and  strong ; 
Some  were  nameless,  poor,  unlettered, 
weak  in  all  but  grief  and  wrong. 

Named  and  nameless  all  live  in  us  j 
one  and  all  they  lead  us  yet 
Every  pain  to  count  for  nothing, 
every  sorrow  to  forget. 

Hearken  how  they  cry,  "  O  happy, 
happy  ye  that  ye  were  born 
In  the  sad  slow  night's  departing, 
in  the  rising  of  the  morn. 

"  Fair  the  crown  the  Cause  hath  for  you, 
well  to  die  or  well  to  live 
Through  the  battle,  through  the  tangle, 
peace  to  gain  or  peace  to  give." 

Ah,  it  may  be !    Oft  meseemeth, 
in  the  days  that  yet  shall  be, 
When  no  slave  of  gold  abideth 
'twixt  the  breadth  of  sea  to  sea, 


ALL  FOR  THE  CAUSE  135 

Oft,  when  men  and  maids  are  merry, 
ere  the  sunlight  leaves  the  earth, 
And  they  bless  the  day  beloved, 
all  too  short  for  all  their  mirth, 


Some  shall  pause  awhile  and  ponder 
on  the  bitter  days  of  old, 
Ere  the  toil  of  strife  and  battle 
overthrew  the  curse  of  gold ; 

Then  'twixt  lips  of  loved  and  lover 
solemn  thoughts  of  us  shall  rise  ; 
We  who  once  were  fools  defeated, 
then  shall  be  the  brave  and  wise. 

There  amidst  the  world  new-builded 
shall  our  earthly  deeds  abide, 
Though  our  najnes  be  all  forgotten, 
and  the  tale  of  how  we  died. 

Life  or  death  then,  who  shall  heed  it, 
what  we  gain  or  what  we  lose  ? 
Fair  flies  life  amid  the  struggle, 
and  the  Cause  for  each  shall  choose. 

Hear  a  word,  a  word  in  season, 
for  the  day  is  drawing  nigh, 
When  the  Cause  shall  call  upon  us, 
some  to  live,  and  some  to  die  ! 


PAIN  AND  TIME  STRIVE  NOT 

WHAT  part  of  the  dread  eternity 
Are  those  strange  minutes  that  I  gain, 
Mazed  with  the  doubt  of  love  and  pain, 
When  I  thy  delicate  face  may  see, 
A  little  while  before  farewell  ? 

What  share  of  the  world's  yearning-tide 
That  flash,  when  new  day  bare  and  white 
Blots  out  my  half-dream's  faint  delight, 
And  there  is  nothing  by  my  side, 
And  well  remembered  is  farewell  ? 

What  drop  in  the  grey  flood  of  tears 

That  time,  when  the  long  day  toiled  through, 

Worn  out,  shows  nought  for  me  to  do, 

And  nothing  worth  my  labour  bears 

The  longing  of  that  last  farewell  ? 

What  pity  from  the  heavens  above, 
What  heed  from  out  eternity, 
What  word  from  the  swift  world  for  me  ? 
Speak,  heed,  and  pity,  O  tender  love, 

Who  knew'st  the  days  before  farewell ! 

136 


DRAWING  NEAR  THE  LIGHT 


E,  when  we  wade  the  tangled  wood, 
In  haste  and  hurry  to  be  there, 
Nought  seem  its  leaves  and  blossoms  good, 
For  all  that  they  be  fashioned  fair. 

But  looking  up,  at  last  we  see 

The  glimmer  of  the  open  light, 

From  o'er  the  place  where  we  would  be : 

Then  grow  the  very  brambles  bright 

So  now,  amidst  our  day  of  strife, 
With  many  a  matter  glad  we  play, 
When  once  we  see  the  light  of  life 
Gleam  through  the  tangle  of  to-day. 


137 


VERSES   FOR  PICTURES 


DAY 


I  AM  Day ;  I  bring  again 
Life  and  glory,  Love  and  pain : 
Awake,  arise  !  from  death  to  death 
Through  me  the  World's  tale  quickeneth. 


SPRING 


Spring  am  I,  too  soft  of  heart 
Much  to  speak  ere  I  depart : 
Ask  the  Summer-tide  to  prove 
The  abundance  of  my  lore. 

SUMMER 

Summer  looked  for  long  am  I ; 
Much  shall  change  or  e'er  I  die. 
Prithee  take  it  not  amiss 
Though  I  weary  thee  with  bliss. 

AUTUMN 

Laden  Autumn  here  I  stand 
Worn  of  heart,  and  weak  of  hand : 
Nought  but  rest  seems  good  to  me, 

Speak  the  word  that  sets  me  free. 

138 


VERSES  FOR  PICTURES  139 

WINTER 

I  am  Winter,  that  do  keep 
Longing  safe  amidst  of  sleep : 
Who  shall  say  if  I  were  dead 
What  should  be  remembered  ? 

NIGHT 

I  am  Night :  I  bring  again 
Hope  of  pleasure,  rest  from  pain  : 
Thoughts  unsaid  'twixt  Life  and  Death 
My  fruitful  silence  quickeneth. 


FOR  THE  BRIAR  ROSE 


THE    BRIARWOOD 

THE  fateful  slumber  floats  and  flows 
About  the  tangle  of  the  rose  ; 
But  lo  !  the  fated  hand  and  heart 
To  rend  the  slumberous  curse  apart ! 


THE   COUNCIL   ROOM 

The  threat  of  war,  the  hope  of  peace, 
The  Kingdom's  peril  and  increase 
Sleep  on,  and  bide  the  latter  day, 
When  Fate  shall  take  her  chain  away. 


THE   GARDEN   COURT 

The  maiden  pleasance  of  the  land 
Knoweth  no  stir  of  voice  or  hand, 
No  cup  the  sleeping  waters  fill, 
The  restless  shuttle  lieth  still. 


FOR  THE  BRIAR  ROSE  141 


THE    ROSEBOWER 


Here  lies  the  hoarded  love,  the  key 
To  all  the  treasure  that  shall  be ; 
Come  fated  hand  the  gift  to  take, 
And  smite  this  sleeping  world  awake. 


ANOTHER  FOR  THE  BRIAR  ROSE 

O  TREACHEROUS  scent,  O  thorny  sight, 
O  tangle  of  world's  wrong  and  right, 
What  art  thou  'gainst  my  armour's  gleam 
But  dusky  cobwebs  of  a  dream  ? 

Beat  down,  deep  sunk  from  every  gleam 
Of  hope,  they  lie  and  dully  dream  ; 
Men  once,  but  men  no  more,  that  Love 
Their  waste  defeated  hearts  should  move. 

Here  sleeps  the  world  that  would  not  love ! 
Let  it  sleep  on,  but  if  He  move 
Their  hearts  in  humble  wise  to  wait 
On  his  new-wakened  fair  estate. 

O  won  at  last  is  never  late ! 
Thy  silence  was  the  voice  of  fate ; 
Thy  still  hands  conquered  in  the  strife ; 
Thine  eyes  were  light ;  thy  lips  were  life. 


142 


THE  WOODPECKER 

I  ONCE  a  King  and  chief 
Now  am  the  tree-bark's  thief, 
Ever  'twixt  trunk  and  leaf 
Chasing  the  prey. 


THE  LION 

THE  Beasts  that  be 
In  wood  and  waste, 
Now  sit  and  see, 
Nor  ride  nor  haste. 


B 


THE  FOREST 


PEAR-TREE 

Y  woodman's  edge  I  faint  and  fail ; 
By  craftsman's  edge  I  tell  the  tale. 


CHESTNUT-TREE 

High  in  the  wood,  high  o'er  the  hall, 
Aloft  I  rise  when  low  I  fall. 

OAK-TREE 

Unmoved  I  stand  what  wind  may  blow. 
Swift,  swift  before  the  wind  I  go. 


POMONA 

I  AM  the  ancient  Apple-Queen, 
As  once  I  was  so  am  I  now. 
For  evermore  a  hope  unseen, 
Betwixt  the  blossom  and  the  bough. 

Ah,  where's  the  river's  hidden  Gold  ! 
And  where  the  windy  grave  of  Troy  ? 
Yet  come  I  as  I  came  of  old, 
From  out  the  heart  of  Summer's  joy. 


»4S 


FLORA 

I  AM  the  handmaid  of  the  earth, 
I  broider  fair  her  glorious  gown, 
And  deck  her  on  her  days  of  mirth 
With  many  a  garland  of  renown. 

And  while  Earth's  little  ones  are  fain 
And  play  about  the  Mother's  hem, 
I  scatter  every  gift  I  gain 
From  sun  and  wind  to  gladden  them. 


M 


THE  ORCHARD 

IDST  bitten  mead  and  acre  shorn, 
The  world  without  is  waste  and  worn, 


But  here  within  our  orchard-close, 
The  guerdon  of  its  labour  shows. 

O  valiant  Earth,  O  happy  year 

That  mocks  the  threat  of  winter  near, 

And  hangs  aloft  from  tree  to  tree 

The  banners  of  the  Spring  to  be. 

146 


I 


TAPESTRY  TREES 

OAK 

AM  the  Roof-tree  and  the  Keel ; 
I  bridge  the  seas  for  woe  and  weal. 

FIR 


High  o'er  the  lordly  oak  I  stand, 
And  drive  him  on  from  land  to  land. 

ASH 

I  heft  my  brother's  iron  bane ; 

I  shaft  the  spear,  and  build  the  wain. 

YEW 

Dark  down  the  windy  dale  I  grow, 
The  father  of  the  fateful  Bow. 

POPLAR 

The  war-shaft  and  the  milking-bowl 
I  make,  and  keep  the  hay-wain  whole. 

OLIVE 

The  King  I  bless ;  the  lamps  I  trim ; 

In  my  warm  wave  do  fishes  swim. 
147 


148  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

APPLE-TREE 

I  bowed  my  head  to  Adam's  will ; 
The  cups  of  toiling  men  I  fill. 

VINE 

I  draw  the  blood  from  out  the  earth ; 
I  store  the  sun  for  winter  mirth. 

ORANGE-TREE 

Amidst  the  greenness  of  my  night, 

My  odorous  lamps  hang  round  and  bright. 

FIG-TREE 

I  who  am  little  among  trees 
In  honey-making  mate  the  bees. 

MULBERRY-TREE 

Love's  lack  hath  dyed  my  berries  red : 
For  Love's  attire  my  leaves  are  shed. 

PEAR-TREE 

High  o'er  the  mead-flowers'  hidden  feet 
I  bear  aloft  my  burden  sweet. 

BAY 

Look  on  my  leafy  boughs,  the  Crown 
Of  living  song  and  dead  renown  ! 


THE  FLOWERING  ORCHARD 


SILK    EMBROIDERY 

K  silken  my  garden, 
and  silken  my  sky, 
And  silken  my  apple-boughs 
hanging  on  high ; 
All  wrought  by  the  Worm 
in  the  peasant  carle's  cot 
On  the  Mulberry  leafage 
when  summer  was  hot ! 


THE  END  OF  MAY 

HOW  the  wind  howls  this  morn 
About  the  end  of  May, 
And  drives  June  on  apace 
To  mock  the  world  forlorn 
And  the  world's  joy  passed  away 
And  my  unlonged-for  face  ! 
The  world's  joy  passed  away ; 
For  no  more  may  I  deem 
That  any  folk  are  glad 
To  see  the  dawn  of  day 
Sunder  the  tangled  dream 
Wherein  no  grief  they  had. 
Ah,  through  the  tangled  dream 
Where  others  have  no  grief 
Ever  it  fares  with  me 
That  fears  and  treasons  stream 
And  dumb  sleep  slays  belief 
Whatso  therein  may  be. 
Sleep  slayeth  all  belief 
Until  the  hopeless  light 
Wakes  at  the  birth  of  June 
More  lying  tales  to  weave, 
More  love  in  woe's  despite, 

More  hope  to  perish  soon. 
150 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE  GONE 


days  have  slain  the  days, 
-     and  the  seasons  have  gone  by 
And  brought  me  the  summer  again  ; 
and  here  on  the  grass  I  lie 
As  erst  I  lay  and  was  glad 
ere  I  meddled  with  right  and  with  wrong. 
Wide  lies  the  mead  as  of  old, 
and  the  river  is  creeping  along 
By  the  side  of  the  elm-clad  bank 
that  turns  its  weedy  stream  ; 
And  grey  o'er  its  hither  lip 
the  quivering  rushes  gleam. 
There  is  work  in  the  mead  as  of  old  ; 
they  are  eager  at  winning  the  hay, 
While  every  sun  sets  bright 
and  begets  a  fairer  day. 
The  forks  shine  white  in  the  sun 
round  the  yellow  red-wheeled  wain, 
Where  the  mountain  of  hay  grows  fast  ; 
and  now  from  out  of  the  lane 
Comes  the  ox-team  drawing  another, 
comes  the  bailiff  and  the  beer, 


152  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  thump,  thump,  goes  the  farmer's  nag 

o'er  the  narrow  bridge  of  the  weir. 

High  up  and  light  are  the  clouds, 

and  though  the  swallows  flit 

So  high  o'er  the  sunlit  earth, 

they  are  well  a  part  of  it, 

And  so,  though  high  over  them, 

are  the  wings  of  the  wandering  herne ; 

In  measureless  depths  above  him 

doth  the  fair  sky  quiver  and  burn ; 

The  dear  sun  floods  the  land 

as  the  morning  falls  toward  noon, 

And  a  little  wind  is  awake 

in  the  best  of  the  latter  June. 

They  are  busy  winning  the  hay, 

and  the  life  and  the  picture  they  make 

If  I  were  as  once  I  was, 

I  should  deem  it  made  for  my  sake ; 

For  here  if  one  need  not  work 

is  a  place  for  happy  rest, 

While  one's  thought  wends  over  the  world 

north,  south,  and  east  and  west. 


There  are  the  men  and  the  maids, 
and  the  wives  and  the  gaffers  grey 
Of  the  fields  I  know  so  well, 
and  but  little  changed  are  they 
Since  I  was  a  lad  amongst  them ; 
and  yet  how  great  is  the  change  ! 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE  GONE  153 

Strange  are  they  grown  unto  me ; 

yea  I  to  myself  am  strange. 

Their  talk  and  their  laughter  mingling 

with  the  music  of  the  meads 

Has  now  no  meaning  to  me 

to  help  or  to  hinder  my  needs, 

So  far  from  them  have  I  drifted. 

And  yet  amidst  of  them  goes 

A  part  of  myself,  my  boy, 

and  of  pleasure  and  pain  he  knows, 

And  deems  it  something  strange, 

when  he  is  other  than  glad. 

Lo  now  !  the  woman  that  stoops 

and  kisses  the  face  of  the  lad, 

And  puts  a  rake  in  his  hand 

and  laughs  in  his  laughing  face. 

Whose  is  the  voice  that  laughs 

in  the  old  familiar  place  ? 

Whose  should  it  be  but  my  love's, 

if  my  love  were  yet  on  the  earth  ? 

Could  she  refrain  from  the  fields 

where  my  joy  and  her  joy  had  birth, 

When  I  was  there  and  her  child, 

on  the  grass  that  knew  her  feet 

'Mid  the  flowers  that  led  her  on 

when  the  summer  eve  was  sweet  ? 


No,  no,  it  is  she  no  longer ; 
never  again  can  she  come 


154  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  behold  the  hay-wains  creeping 

o'er  the  meadows  of  her  home ; 

No  more  can  she  kiss  her  son 

or  put  the  rake  in  his  hand 

That  she  handled  a  while  agone 

in  the  midst  of  the  haymaking  band. 

Her  laughter  is  gone  and  her  life ; 

there  is  no  such  thing  on  the  earth, 

No  share  for  me  then  in  the  stir, 

no  share  in  the  hurry  and  mirth. 

Nay,  let  me  look  and  believe 

that  all  these  will  vanish  away, 

At  least  when  the  night  has  fallen, 

and  that  she  will  be  there  'mid  the  hay, 

Happy  and  weary  with  work, 

waiting  and  longing  for  love. 

There  will  she  be,  as  of  old, 

when  the  great  moon  hung  above, 

And  lightless  and  dead  was  the  village, 

and  nought  but  the  weir  was  awake ; 

There  will  she  rise  to  meet  me, 

and  my  hands  will  she  hasten  to  take, 

And  thence  shall  we  wander  away, 

and  over  the  ancient  bridge 

By  many  a  rose- hung  hedgerow, 

till  we  reach  the  sun-burnt  ridge 

And  the  great  trench  digged  by  the  Romans 

there  then  awhile  shall  we  stand, 

To  watch  the  dawn  come  creeping 

o'er  the  fragrant  lovely  land, 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE  GONE  155 

Till  all  the  world  awaketh, 

and  draws  us  down,  we  twain, 

To  the  deeds  of  the  field  and  the  fold 

and  the  merry  summer's  gain. 


Ah  thus,  only  thus  shall  I  see  her, 

in  dreams  of  the  day  or  the  night, 

When  my  soul  is  beguiled  of  its  sorrow 

to  remember  past  delight. 

She  is  gone.     She  was  and  she  is  not ; 

there  is  no  such  thing  on  the  earth 

But  e'en  as  a  picture  painted ; 

and  for  me  there  is  void  and  dearth 

That  I  cannot  name  or  measure. 

Yet  for  me  and  all  these  she  died, 

E'en  as  she  lived  for  awhile, 

that  the  better  day  might  betide. 

Therefore  I  live,  and  I  shall  live 

till  the  last  day's  work  shall  fail. 

Have  patience  now  but  a  little 

and  I  will  tell  you  the  tale 

Of  how  and  why  she  died, 

And  why  I  am  weak  and  worn, 

And  have  wandered  away  to  the  meadows 

and  the  place  where  I  was  born ; 

But  here  and  to-day  I  cannot ; 

for  ever  my  thought  will  stray 

To  that  hope  fulfilled  for  a  little 

and  the  bliss  of  the  earlier  day. 


156  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Of  the  great  world's  hope  and  anguish 

to-day  I  scarce  can  think ; 

Like  a  ghost,  from  the  lives  of  the  living 

and  their  earthly  deeds  I  shrink. 

I  will  go  adown  by  the  water 

and  over  the  ancient  bridge, 

And  wend  in  our  footsteps  of  old 

till  I  come  to  the  sun-burnt  ridge, 

And  the  great  trench  digged  by  the  Romans 

and  thence  awhile  will  I  gaze, 

And  see  three  teeming  counties 

stretch  out  till  they  fade  in  the  haze ; 

And  in  all  the  dwellings  of  man 

that  thence  mine  eyes  shall  see, 

What  man  as  hapless  as  I  am 

beneath  the  sun  shall  be  ? 


O  fool,  what  words  are  these  ? 

Thou  hast  a  sorrow  to  nurse, 

And  thou  hast  been  bold  and  happy ; 

but  these,  if  they  utter  a  curse, 

No  sting  it  has  and  no  meaning, 

it  is  empty  sound  on  the  air. 

Thy  life  is  full  of  mourning, 

and  theirs  so  empty  and  bare, 

That  they  have  no  words  of  complaining ; 

nor  so  happy  have  they  been 

That  they  may  measure  sorrow 

or  tell  what  grief  may  mean. 


THE  HALF  OF  LIFE  GONE  157 

And  thou,  thou  hast  deeds  to  do, 
and  toil  to  meet  thee  soon  ; 
Depart  and  ponder  on  these 
through  the  sun-worn  afternoon. 


MINE  AND  THINE 

FROM  A  FLEMISH  POEM  OF  THE  FOURTEENTH  CENTURY 

TWO  words  about  the  world  we  see, 
And  nought  but  Mine  and  Thine  they  be. 
Ah  !  might  we  drive  them  forth  and  wide 
With  us  -should  rest  and  peace  abide ; 
All  free,  nought  owned  of  goods  and  gear, 
By  men  and  women  though  it  were. 
Common  to  all  all  wheat  and  wine 
Over  the  seas  and  up  the  Rhine. 
No  manslayer  then  the  wide  world  o'er 
When  Mine  and  Thine  are  known  no  more. 
Yea,  God,  well  counselled  for  our  health, 
Gave  all  this  fleeting  earthly  wealth 
A  common  heritage  to  all, 
That  men  might  feed  them  therewithal, 
And  clothe  their  limbs  and  shoe  their  feet 
And  live  a  simple  life  and  sweet. 
But  now  so  rageth  greediness 
That  each  desireth  nothing  less 
Than  all  the  world,  and  all  his  own ; 
And  all  for  him  and  him  alone. 


THE     LAY    OF     CHRISTINE 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   ICELANDIC 

OF  silk  my  gear  was  shapen, 
Scarlet  they  did  on  me, 
Then  to  the  sea-strand  was  I  borne 
And  laid  in  a  bark  of  the  sea. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

Befell  it  there  I  might  not  drown, 
For  God  to  me  was  good ; 
The  billows  bare  me  up  a-land 
Where  grew  the  fair  green-wood. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

There  came  a  Knight  a-riding 
With  three  swains  along  the  way, 
And  he  took  me  up,  the  little-one, 
On  the  sea-sand  as  I  lay. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

He  took  me  up,  and  bare  me  home 
To  the  house  that  was  his  own, 
And  there  bode  I  so  long  with  him 
That  I  was  his  love  alone. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 
159 


160  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  the  very  first  night  we  lay  abed 

Befell  his  sorrow  and  harm, 

That  thither  came  the  King's  ill  men, 

And  slew  him  on  mine  arm. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

There  slew  they  Adalbright  the  King, 

Two  of  his  swains  slew  they, 

But  the  third  sailed  swiftly  from  the  land 

Sithence  I  saw  him  never  a  day. 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

O  wavering  hope  of  this  world's  bliss, 

How  shall  men  trow  in  thee  ? 

My  Grove  of  Gems  is  gone  away 

For  mine  eyes  no  more  to  see ! 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

Each  hour  the  while  my  life  shall  last 

Remembereth  him  alone, 

Such  heavy  sorrow  have  I  got 

From  our  meeting  long  agone. 

O  well  were  1  from  the  World  away. 

O,  early  in  the  morning-tide 

Men  cry :  "  Christine  the  fair, 

Art  thou  well  content  with  that  true  love 

Thou  sittest  loving  there  ?  " 

O  well  were  I  from  the ,  World  away. 


THE  LAY  OF  CHRISTINE  161 

"  Ah,  yea,  so  well  I  love  him, 
And  so  dear  my  love  shall  be, 
That  the  very  God  of  Heaven  aloft 
Worshippeth  him  and  me. 
O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

"  Ah,  all  the  red  gold  I  have  got 

Well  would  I  give  to-day, 

Only  for  this  and  nothing  else 

From  the  world  to  win  away." 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 

"  Nay,  midst  all  folk  upon  the  earth 

Keep  thou  thy  ruddy  gold, 

And  love  withal  the  mighty  lord 

That  wedded  thee  of  old." 

O  well  were  I  from  the  World  away. 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH 

HELLELIL  sitteth  in  bower  there, 
None  knows  my  grief  but  God  alone, 
And  seweth  at  the  seam  so  fair, 
/  never  wail  my  sorrow  to  any  other  one. 

But  there  whereas  the  gold  should  be 
With  silk  upon  the  cloth  sewed  she. 

Where  she  should  sew  with  silken  thread 
The  gold  upon  the  cloth  she  laid. 

So  to  the  Queen  the  word  came  in 
That  Hellelil  wild  work  doth  win. 

Then  did  the  Queen  do  furs  on  her 
And  went  to  Hellelil  the  fair. 

"  O  swiftly  sewest  thou,  Hellelil, 

Yet  nought  but  mad  is  thy  sewing  still ! " 

"  Well  may  my  sewing  be  but  mad 
Such  evil  hap  as  I  have  had. 

162 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL  163 

My  father  was  good  king  and  lord, 
Knights  fifteen  served  before  his  board. 

He  taught  me  sewing  royally, 

Twelve  knights  had  watch  and  ward  of  me. 

Well  served  eleven  day  by  day, 
To  folly  the  twelfth  did  me  bewray. 

And  this  same  was  hight  Hildebrand, 
The  King's  son  of  the  English  Land. 

But  in  bower  were  we  no  sooner  laid 

Than  the  truth  thereof  to  my  father  was  said. 

Then  loud  he  cried  o'er  garth  and  hall : 
*  Stand  up,  my  men,  and  arm  ye  all ! 

'  Yea  draw  on  mail  and  dally  not, 
Hard  neck  lord  Hildebrand  hath  got ! ' 

They  stood  by  the  door  with  glaive  and  spear  ; 
'  Hildebrand  rise  and  hasten  here  ! ' 

Lord  Hildebrand  stroked  my  white  white  cheek  : 
'  O  love,  forbear  my  name  to  speak. 

1  Yea  even  if  my  blood  thou  see, 
Name  me  not,  lest  my  death  thou  be.' 

Out  from  the  door  lord  Hildebrand  leapt, 
And  round  about  his  good  sword  swept. 


1 64  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

The  first  of  all  that  he  slew  there 

Were  my  seven  brethren  with  golden  hair. 

Then  before  him  stood  the  youngest  one, 
And  dear  he  was  in  the  days  agone. 

Then  I  cried  out :  '  O  Hildebrand, 

In  the  name  of  God  now  stay  thine  hand. 

*  O  let  my  youngest  brother  live 
Tidings  hereof  to  my  mother  to  give ! ' 

No  sooner  was  the  word  gone  forth 

Than  with  eight  wounds  fell  my  love  to  earth. 

My  brother  took  me  by  the  golden  hair, 
And  bound  me  to  the  saddle  there. 

There  met  me  then  no  littlest  root, 
But  it  tore  off  somewhat  of  my  foot. 

No  littlest  brake  the  wild-wood  bore, 
But  somewhat  from  my  legs  it  tore. 

No  deepest  dam  we  came  unto 

But  my  brother's  horse  he  swam  it  through 

But  when  to  the  castle  gate  we  came, 

There  stood  my  mother  in  sorrow  and  shame. 

My  brother  let  raise  a  tower  high, 
Bestrewn  with  sharp  thorns  inwardly. 


HILDEBRAND  AND  HELLELIL  165 

He  took  me  in  my  silk  shirt  bare 
And  cast  me  into  that  tower  there. 


And  wheresoe'er  my  legs  I  laid 
Torment  of  the  thorns  I  had. 

Wheresoe'er  on  feet  I  stood 

The  prickles  sharp  drew  forth  my  blood. 

My  youngest  brother  me  would  slay, 

But  my  mother  would  have  me  sold  away. 

A  great  new  bell  my  price  did  buy 
In  Mary's  Church  to  hang  on  high. 

But  the  first  stroke  that  ever  it  strake 
My  mother's  heart  asunder  brake." 

So  soon  as  her  sorrow  and  woe  was  said, 
None  knows  my  grief  but  God  alone, 
In  the  arm  of  the  Queen  she  sat  there  dead, 
/  never  tell  my  sorrow  to  any  other  one. 


THE    SON'S    SORROW 

FROM   THE   ICELANDIC 

THE  King  has  asked  of  his  son  so  good, 
"  Why  art  thou  hushed  and  heavy  of  mood  ? 
O  fair  it  is  to  ride  abroad. 
Thou  playest  not,  and  thou  laughest  not  j 
All  thy  good  game  is  clean  forgot." 

"  Sit  thou  beside  me,  father  dear, 

And  the  tale  of  my  sorrow  shalt  thou  hear. 

Thou  sendedst  me  unto  a  far-off  land, 
And  gavest  me  into  a  good  Earl's  hand. 

Now  had  this  good  Earl  daughters  seven, 
The  fairest  of  maidens  under  heaven. 

One  brought  me  my  meat  when  I  should  dine, 
One  cut  and  sewed  my  raiment  fine. 

One  washed  and  combed  my  yellow  hair, 
And  one  I  fell  to  loving  there. 

Befell  it  on  so  fair  a  day, 

We  minded  us  to  sport  and  play. 

166 


THE  SON'S  SORROW  167 

Down  in  a  dale  my  horse  bound  I, 
Bound  on  my  saddle  speedily. 

Bright  red  she  was  as  the  flickering  flame 
When  to  my  saddle-bow  she  came. 

Beside  my  saddle-bow  she  stood, 

1  To  flee  with  thee  to  my  heart  were  good.' 

Kind  was  my  horse  and  good  to  aid, 
My  love  upon  his  back  I  laid. 

We  gat  us  from  the  garth  away, 
And  none  was  ware  of  us  that  day. 

But  as  we  rode  along  the  sand 
Behold  a  barge  lay  by  the  land. 

So  in  that  boat  did  we  depart, 
And  rowed  away  right  glad  at  heart. 

When  we  came  to  the  dark  wood  and  the  shade 
To  raise  the  tent  my  true-love  bade. 

Three  sons  my  true-love  bore  me  there, 
And  syne  she  died  who  was  so  dear. 

A  grave  I  wrought  her  with  my  sword, 
With  my  fair  shield  the  mould  I  poured. 

First  in  the  mould  I  laid  my  love, 
Then  all  my  sons  her  breast  above. 


l6g  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

And  I  without  must  lie  alone ; 
So  from  the  place  I  gat  me  gone." 

No  man  now  shall  stand  on  his  feet 
To  love  that  love,  to  woo  that  sweet 
O  fair  it  is  to  ride  abroad. 


AGNES    AND    THE    HILL-MAN 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   DANISH 

AGNES  went  through  the  meadows  a-weeping, 
Fowl  are  a-singing. 

There  stood  the  hill-man  heed  thereof  keeping. 
AgneS)  fair  Agnes  I 

"  Come  to  the  hill,  fair  Agnes,  with  me, 
The  reddest  of  gold  will  I  give  unto  thee  ! " 

Twice  went  Agnes  the  hill  round  about, 

Then  wended  within,  left  the  fair  world  without. 

In  the  hillside  bode  Agnes,  three  years  thrice  told  o'er, 
For  the  green  earth  sithence  fell  she  longing  full  sore. 

There  she  sat,  and  lullaby  sang  in  her  singing, 

And  she  heard  how  the  bells  of  England  were  ringing. 

Agnes  before  her  true-love  did  stand  : 

"  May  I  wend  to  the  church  of  the  English  Land  ?  " 

"  To  England's  Church  well  mayst  thou  be  gone, 

So  that  no  hand  thou  lay  the  red  gold  upon. 
169 


i yo  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  So  that  when  thou  art  come  the  churchyard  anear, 
Thou  cast  not  abroad  thy  golden  hair. 

"  So  that  when  thou  standest  the  church  within, 
To  thy  mother  on  bench  thou  never  win. 

"  So  that  when  thou  hearest  the  high  God's  name, 
No  knee  unto  earth  thou  bow  to  the  same." 

Hand  she  laid  on  all  gold  that  was  there, 
And  cast  abroad  her  golden  hair. 

And  when  the  church  she  stood  within, 

To  her  mother  on  bench  straight  did  she  win. 

And  when  she  heard  the  high  God's  name, 
Knee  unto  earth  she  bowed  to  the  same. 

When  all  the  mass  was  sung  to  its  end, 
Home  with  her  mother  dear  did  she  wend. 

"Come,  Agnes,  into  the  hillside  to  me, 

For  thy  seven  small  sons  greet  sorely  for  thee ! " 

"  Let  them  greet,  let  them  greet,  as  they  have  will  to  do ; 
For  never  again  will  I  hearken  thereto  !  " 

Weird  laid  he  on  her,  sore  sickness  he  wrought, 
Fowl  are  a-singing. 

That  self-same  hour  to  death  was  she  brought. 
Agnes )  fair  Agnes  1 


KNIGHT  AAGEN  AND  MAIDEN   ELSE 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE   DANISH 

IT  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
To  an  isle  he  went  his  way, 
And  plighted  troth  to  Else, 
Who  was  so  fair  a  may. 

He  plighted  troth  to  Else 

All  with  the  ruddy  gold, 

But  or  ere  that  day's  moon  came  again 

Low  he  lay  in  the  black,  black  mould 

It  was  the  maiden  Else, 

She  was  fulfilled  of  woe 

When  she  heard  how  the  fair  knight  Aagen 

In  the  black  mould  lay  alow. 

Uprose  the  fair  knight  Aagen, 
Coffin  on  back  took  he, 
And  he's  away  to  her  bower, 
Sore  hard  as  the  work  might  be. 


172  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

With  that  same  chest  on  door  he  smote, 
For  the  lack  of  flesh  and  skin ; 
"O  hearken,  maiden  Else, 
And  let  thy  true-love  in  !  * 

Then  answered  maiden  Else, 

"  Never  open  I  my  door, 

But  and  if  thou  namest  Jesu's  name 

As  thou  hadst  might  before." 

"  O  hearken,  maiden  Else, 
And  open  thou  thy  door, 
For  Jesu's  name  I  well  may  name 
As  I  had  might  before  ! " 

Then  uprose  maiden  Else, 
O'er  her  cheek  the  salt  tears  ran, 
Nor  spared  she  into  her  very  bower 
To  welcome  that  dead  man. 

O,  she's  taken  up  her  comb  of  gold 
.         And  combed  adown  her  hair, 

And  for  every  hair  she  combed  adown 
There  fell  a  weary  tear. 

"  Hearken  thou,  knight  Aagen, 
Hearken,  true-love,  and  tell, 
If  down-adown  in  the  black,  black  earth 
Thou  farest  ever  well  ?  " 


KNIGHT  AAGEN  AND  MAIDEN  ELSE      173 

"  O  whenso  thou  art  joyous, 
And  the  heart  is  glad  in  thee, 
Then  fares  it  with  my  coffin 
That  red  roses  are  with  me. 


"  But  whenso  thou  art  sorrowful 
And  weary  is  thy  mood, 
Then  all  within  my  coffin 
Is  it  dreadful  with  dark  blood. 

"  Now  is  the  red  cock  a-crowing, 
To  the  earth  adown  must  I ; 
Down  to  the  earth  wend  all  dead  folk, 
And  I  wend  in  company. 

"  Now  is  the  black  cock  a-crowing, 
To  the  earth  must  I  adown, 
For  the  gates  of  Heaven  are  opening  now, 
Thereto  must  I  begone." 

Uprose  the  fair  knight  Aagen, 
Coffin  on  back  took  he, 
And  he's  away  to  the  churchyard  now, 
Sore  hard  as  the  work  might  be. 

But  so  wrought  maiden  Else, 
Because  of  her  weary  mood, 
That  she  followed  after  own  true  love 
All  through  the  mirk  wild  wood. 


174  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

But  when  the  wood  was  well  passed  through. 
And  in  the  churchyard  they  were, 
Then  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
Waxen  wan  of  his  golden  hair. 

And  when  therefrom  they  wended 
And  were  the  church  within, 
Then  was  the  fair  knight  Aagen 
Waxen  wan  of  cheek  and  chin. 

"  Hearken  thou,  maiden  Else, 
Hearken,  true-love,  to  me, 
Weep  no  more  for  thine  own  troth-plight. 
However  it  shall  be  ! 

"  Look  thou  up  to  the  heavens  aloft, 
To  the  little  stars  and  bright, 
And  thou  shalt  see  how  sweetly 
It  fareth  with  the  night ! " 

She  looked  up  to  the  heavens  aloft, 
To  the  little  stars  bright  above. 
The  dead  man  sank  into  his  grave, 
Ne'er  again  she  saw  her  love. 

Home  then  went  maiden  Else, 
Mid  sorrow  manifold, 
And  ere  that  night's  moon  came  again 
She  lay  alow  in  the  mould. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    DANISH. 

KING  Hafbur  and  King  Siward 
They  needs  must  stir  up  strife, 
All  about  the  sweetling  Signy 
Who  was  so  fair  a  wife. 
O  wilt  thou  win  me  then, 
or  as  fair  a  maid  as  I  be? 

It  was  the  King's  son  Hafbur 
Woke  up  amid  the  night, 
And  'gan  to  tell  of  a  wondrous  dream 
In  swift  words  nowise  light. 

"  Me-dreamed  I  was  in  heaven 
Amid  that  fair  abode, 
And  my  true-love  lay  upon  mine  arm 
And  we  fell  from  cloud  to  cloud." 

As  there  they  sat,  the  dames  and  maids 
Of  his  words  they  took  no  keep, 
Only  his  mother  well-beloved 
Heeded  his  dreamful  sleep. 

'75 


176  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

"  Go  get  thee  gone  to  the  mountain, 
And  make  no  long  delay ; 
To  the  elve's  eldest  daughter 
For  thy  dream's  areding  pray." 

So  the  King's  son,  even  Haf  bur, 
Took  his  sword  in  his  left  hand, 
And  he's  away  to  the  mountain 
To  get  speech  of  that  Lily-wand. 

He  beat  thereon  with  hand  all  bare, 
With  fingers  small  and  fine, 
And  there  she  lay,  the  elve's  daughter, 
And  well  wotted  of  that  sign. 

"  Bide  hail,  Elve's  sweetest  daughter, 
As  on  skins  thou  liest  fair, 
I  pray  thee  by  the  God  of  Heaven 
My  dream  arede  thou  clear. 

"  Me- dreamed  I  was  in  heaven, 
Yea  amid  that  fair  abode, 
And  my  true-love  lay  upon  mine  arm 
And  we  fell  from  cloud  to  cloud." 


"  Whereas  thou  dreamed'st  thou  wert  in  heaven, 
So  shalt  thou  win  that  may ; 
Dreamed'st  thou  of  falling  through  the  clouds, 
So  falls  for  her  thy  life  away." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  177 

"  And  if  it  lieth  in  my  luck 

To  win  to  me  that  may, 

In  no  sorrow's  stead  it  standeth  me 

For  her  to  cast  my  life  away." 

Lord  Haf  bur  lets  his  hair  wax  long, 
And  will  have  the  gear  of  mays, 
And  he  rideth  to  King  Siward's  house 
And  will  well  learn  weaving  ways. 

Lord  Haf  bur  all  his  clothes  let  shape 
In  such  wise  as  maidens  do, 
And  thus  he  rideth  over  the  land 
King  Siward's  daughter  to  woo. 

Now  out  amid  the  castle-garth 
He  cast  his  cloak  aside, 
And  goeth  forth  to  the  high-bower 
Where  the  dames  and  damsels  abide. 


Hail,  sit  ye  there,  dames  and  damsels, 
Maids  and  queens  kind  and  fair, 
And  chiefest  of  all  to  the  Dane- King's  daughter 
If  she  abideth  here ! 

"  Hail,  sittest  thou,  sweet  King's  daughter, 

A-spinning  the  silken  twine, 

It  is  King  Hafbur  sends  me  hither 

To  learn  the  sewing  fine." 

M 


178  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Hath  Haf  bur  sent  thee  here  to  me  ? 
Then  art  thou  a  welcome  guest, 
And  all  the  sewing  that  I  can 
Shall  I  learn  thee  at  my  best. 

"  And  all  the  sewing  that  I  can 

I  shall  learn  thee  lovingly, 

Out  of  one  bowl  shalt  thou  eat  with  me, 

And  by  my  nurse  shalt  thou  lie." 

"  King's  children  have  I  eaten  with, 
And  lain  down  by  their  side : 
Must  I  lie  abed  now  with  a  very  nurse  ? 
Then  woe  is  me  this  tide  ! " 

"  Nay,  let  it  pass,  fair  maiden ! 

Of  me  gettest  thou  no  harm, 

Out  of  one  bowl  shalt  thou  eat  with  me 

And  sleep  soft  upon  mine  arm." 

There  sat  they,  all  the  damsels, 
And  sewed  full  craftily  ; 
But  ever  the  King's  son  Haf  bur 
With  nail  in  mouth  sat  he. 

They  sewed  the  hart,  they  sewed  the  hind, 
As  they  run  through  the  wild-wood  green, 
Never  gat  Haf  bur  so  big  a  bowl 
But  the  bottom  soon  was  seen. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  179 

In  there  came  the  evil  nurse 
In  the  worst  tide  that  might  be : 
"  Never  saw  I  fair  maiden 
Who  could  sew  less  craftily. 

"  Never  saw  I  fair  maiden 
Seam  worse  the  linen  fine, 
Never  saw  I  noble  maiden 
Who  better  drank  the  wine." 

This  withal  spake  the  evil  nurse, 
The  nighest  that  she  durst : 
"  Never  saw  I  yet  fair  maiden 
Of  drink  so  sore  athirst. 

"  So  little  a  seam  as  ever  she  sews 
Goes  the  needle  into  her  mouth, 
As  big  a  bowl  as  ever  she  gets 
Out  is  it  drunk  forsooth. 

"  Ne'er  saw  I  yet  in  maiden's  head 
Two  eyes  so  bright  and  bold, 
And  those  two  hands  of  her  withal 
Are  hard  as  the  iron  cold." 

"  Hearken,  sweet  nurse,  whereso  thou  art, 
Why  wilt  thou  mock  me  still  ? 
Never  cast  I  one  word  at  thee, 
Went  thy  sewing  well  or  ill 


i8o  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

"  Still  wilt  thou  mock,  still  wilt  thou  spy ; 
Nought  such  thou  hast  of  me, 
Whether  mine  eyes  look  out  or  look  in 
Nought  do  they  deal  with  thee." 

O  it  was  Hafbur  the  King's  son 

Began  to  sew  at  last ; 

He  sowed  the  hart,  and  he  sewed  the  hind, 

As  they  flee  from  the  hound  so  fast. 

He  sewed  the  lily,  and  he  sewed  the  rose, 
And  the  little  fowls  of  the  air ; 
Then  fell  the  damsels  a-marvelling, 
For  nought  had  they  missed  him  there. 

Day  long  they  sewed  till  the  evening, 
And  till  the  long  night  was  deep, 
Then  up  stood  dames  and  maidens 
And  were  fain  in  their  beds  to  sleep. 

So  fell  on  them  the  evening-tide, 
O'er  the  meads  the  dew  drave  down, 
And  fain  was  Signy,  that  sweet  thing, 
With  her  folk  to  bed  to  be  gone. 

Therewith  asked  the  King's  son  Haf  bur, 
"  And  whatten  a  bed  for  me  ?  " 
"  O  thou  shalt  sleep  in  the  bower  aloft, 
And  blue  shall  thy  bolster  be." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  181 

She  went  before,  sweet  Signy, 
O'er  the  high-bower's  bridge  aright, 
And  after  her  went  Hafbur 
Laughing  from  heart  grown  light. 

Then  kindled  folk  the  waxlights, 
That  were  so  closely  twined, 
And  after  them  the  ill  nurse  went 
With  an  ill  thought  in  her  mind. 

The  lights  were  quenched,  the  nurse  went  forth, 
They  deemed  they  were  alone  : 
Lord  Hafbur  drew  off  his  kirtle  red, 
Then  first  his  sword  outshone. 

Lord  Hafbur  mid  his  longing  sore 
Down  on  the  bed  he  sat : 
I  tell  you  of  my  soothfastness, 
His  byrny  clashed  thereat. 

Then  spake  the  darling  Signy, 
Out  of  her  heart  she  said, 
"  Never  saw  I  so  rough  a  shirt 
Upon  so  fair  a  maid." 

She  laid  her  hand  on  Haf burs  breast 
With  the  red  gold  all  a-blaze : 
"  Why  wax  thy  breasts  in  no  such  wise 
As  they  wax  in  other  mays  ?  " 


1 82  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

"  The  wont  it  is  in  my  father's  land 
For  maids  to  ride  to  the  Thing, 
Therefore  my  breasts  are  little  of  growth 
Beneath  the  byrny-ring." 


And  there  they  lay  through  the  night  so  long, 

The  King's  son  and  the  may, 

In  talk  full  sweet,  but  little  of  sleep, 

So  much  on  their  minds  there  lay. 

"  Hearken,  sweet  maiden  Signy, 
As  here  alone  we  lie, 
Who  is  thy  dearest  in  the  world, 
And  lieth  thine  heart  most  nigh  ?  " 

"  O  there  is  none  in  all  the  world 
Who  lieth  so  near  to  my  heart 
As  doth  the  bold  King  Haf bur : 
Ne'er  in  him  shall  I  have  a  part. 

"As  doth  the  bold  King  Haf  bur 

That  mine  eyes  shall  never  know  : 

Nought  but  the  sound  of  his  gold-wrought  horn 

As  he  rides  to  the  Thing  and  fro." 

"  O,  is  it  Haf  bur  the  King's  son 
That  thy  loved  heart  holdeth  dear  ? 
Turn  hither,  O  my  well-beloved, 
To  thy  side  I  lie  so  near." 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  183 

"  If  thou  art  the  King's  son  Haf  bur, 
Why  wilt  thou  shame  me,  love, 
Why  ridest  thou  not  to  my  father's  garth 
With  hound,  and  with  hawk  upon  glove  ?" 

"  Once  was  I  in  thy  father's  garth, 
With  hound  and  hawk  and  all ; 
And  with  many  mocks  he  said  me  nay, 
In  such  wise  did  our  meeting  fall." 


All  the  while  they  talked  together 

They  deemed  alone  they  were, 

But  the  false  nurse  ever  stood  close  without, 

And  nought  thereof  she  failed  to  hear. 

O  shame  befall  that  evil  nurse, 
111  tidings  down  she  drew, 
She  stole  away  his  goodly  sword, 
But  and  his  byrny  new. 

She  took  to  her  his  goodly  sword, 

His  byrny  blue  she  had  away, 

And  she  went  her  ways  to  the  high  bower 

Whereas  King  Siward  lay. 

"  Wake  up,  wake  up,  King  Siward ! 
Over  long  thou  sleepest  there, 
The  while  the  King's  son  Hafbur 
Lies  abed  by  Signy  the  fair." 


184  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  No  Haf  bur  is  here,  and  no  King's  son, 
That  thou  shouldst  speak  this  word ; 
He  is  far  away  in  the  east-countries, 
Warring  with  knight  and  lord. 

"  Hold  thou  thy  peace,  thou  evil  nurse, 

And  lay  on  her  no  lie, 

Or  else  tomorn  ere  the  sun  is  up 

In  the  bale-fire  shall  ye  die." 

"  O  hearken  to  this,  my  lord  and  king, 
And  trow  me  nought  but  true ; 
Look  here  upon  his  bright  white  sword, 
But  and  his  byrny  blue  ! " 

Then  mad  of  mind  waxed  Siward, 
Over  all  the  house  'gan  he  cry, 
"  Rise  up,  O  mighty  men  of  mine, 
For  a  hardy  knight  is  anigh  : 

"  Take  ye  sword  and  shield  in  hand, 
And  look  that  they  be  true ; 
For  Haf  bur  the  King  hath  guested  with  us 
Stiffnecked  he  is,  great  deeds  to  do." 

So  there  anigh  the  high-bower  door 
They  stood  with  spear  and  glaive 
"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  Young  Hafbur, 
Out  here  we  would  thee  have ! " 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  185 

That  heard  the  goodly  Signy, 
And  she  wrang  her  hands  full  sore : 
"  Hearken  and  heed,  O  Hafbur, 
Who  stand  without  by  the  door ! " 

Thank  and  praise  to  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 
Manly  he  played  and  stout ! 
None  might  lay  hand  upon  him 
While  the  bed-post  yet  held  out. 

But  they  took  him,  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 
And  set  him  in  bolts  new  wrought ; 
Then  lightly  he  rent  them  asunder, 
As  though  they  were  leaden  and  nought. 

Out  and  spake  the  ancient  nurse, 
And  she  gave  a  rede  of  ill : 
"  Bind  ye  him  but  in  Signy's  hair, 
So  shall  hand  and  foot  lie  still. 

"  Take  ye  but  one  of  Signy's  hairs 
Hafbur's  hands  to  bind, 
Ne'er  shall  he  rend  them  asunder, 
His  heart  to  her  is  so  kind." 

Then  took  they  two  of  Signy's  hairs 
Bonds  for  his  hands  to  be, 
Nor  might  he  rive  them  asunder, 
So  dear  to  his  heart  was  she 


1 86  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Then  spake  the  sweetling  Signy 

As  the  tears  fast  down  her  cheek  did  fall : 

"  O  rend  it  asunder,  Haf  bur, 

That  gift  to  thee  I  give  withal." 


Now  sat  the  King's  son  Hafbur 

Amidst  the  castle-hall, 

And  thronged  to  behold  him  man  and  maid, 

But  the  damsels  chiefest  of  all. 

They  took  him,  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 
Laid  bolts  upon  him  in  that  place, 
And  ever  went  Signy  to  and  fro, 
The  weary  tears  fell  down  apace. 

She  speaketh  to  him  in  sorrowful  mood : 
"  This  will  I,  Hafbur,  for  thee, 
Piteous  prayer  for  thee  shall  make 
My  mother's  sisters  three. 

"  For  my  father's  mind  stands  fast  in  this, 
To  do  thee  to  hang  upon  the  bough 
On  the  topmost  oak  in  the  morning-tide 
While  the  sun  is  yet  but  low." 

But  answered  thereto  young  Hafbur 
Out  of  a  wrathful  mind  : 
"  Of  all  heeds  I  heeded,  this  was  the  last, 
To  be  prayed  for  by  womankind. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  187 

"  But  hearken,  true-love  Signy, 

Good  heart  to  my  asking  turn, 

When  thou  seest  me  swing  on  oaken-bough 

Then  let  thy  high-bower  burn." 

Then  answered  the  noble  Signy, 
So  sore  as  she  must  moan, 
"  God  to  aid,  King's  son  Haf  bur, 
Well  will  I  grant  thy  boon." 


They  followed  him,  King  Hafbur, 
Thick  thronging  from  the  castle-bent : 
And  all  who  saw  him  needs  must  greet 
And  in  full  piteous  wise  they  went. 

But  when  they  came  to  the  fair  green  mead 

Where  Hafbur  was  to  die, 

He  prayed  them  hold  a  little  while : 

For  his  true-love  would  he  try. 

"  O  hang  me  up  my  cloak  of  red, 
That  sight  or  my  ending  let  me  see. 
Perchance  yet  may  King  Siward  rue 
My  hanging  on  the  gallows  tree." 

Now  of  the  cloak  was  Sirmy  ware 
And  sorely  sorrow  her  heart  did  rive, 
She  thought :  "  The  ill  tale  all  is  told, 
No  longer  is  there  need  to  live." 


i88  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Straightway  her  damsels  did  she  call 
As  weary  as  she  was  of  mind  : 
"  Come,  let  us  go  to  the  bower  aloft 
Game  and  glee  for  a  while  to  find." 

Yea  and  withal  spake  Signy, 
She  spake  a  word  of  price  : 
"  To-day  shall  I  do  myself  to  death 
And  meet  Hafbur  in  Paradise. 

"  And  whoso  there  be  in  this  our  house 
Lord  Haf  bur's  death  that  wrought, 
Good  reward  I  give  them  now 
To  red  embers  to  be  brought. 

"  So  many  there  are  in  the  King's  garth 
Of  Haf  bur's  death  shall  be  glad ; 
Good  reward  for  them  to  lose 
The  trothplight  mays  they  had." 

She  set  alight  to  the  bower  aloft 
And  it  burned  up  speedily, 
And  her  good  love  and  her  great  heart 
Might  all  with  eyen  see. 


It  was  the  King's  son  Hafbur 

O'er  his  shoulder  cast  his  eye, 

And  beheld  how  Signy 's  house  of  maids 

On  a  red  low  stood  on  high. 


HAFBUR  AND  SIGNY  189 

"  Now  take  ye  down  my  cloak  of  red, 
Let  it  lie  on  the  earth  a-cold ; 
Had  I  ten  lives  of  the  world  for  one, 
Nought  of  them  all  would  I  hold." 

King  Si  ward  looked  out  of  his  window  fair 
In  fearful  mood  enow, 
For  he  saw  Haf  bur  hanging  on  oak 
And  Signy's  bower  on  a  low. 

Out  then  spake  a  little  page 

Was  clad  in  kirtle  red  : 

"  Sweet  Signy  burns  in  her  bower  aloft, 

With  all  her  mays  unwed." 

Therewithal  spake  King  Siward 
From  rueful  heart  unfain  , 
"  Ne'er  saw  I  two  King's  children  erst 
Such  piteous  ending  gain. 

"  But  had  I  wist  or  heard  it  told 
That  love  so  strong  should  be, 
Ne'er  had  I  held  those  twain  apart 
For  all  Denmark  given  me. 

"  O  hasten  and  run  to  Signy's  bower 
For  the  life  of  that  sweet  thing ; 
Hasten  and  run  to  the  gallows  high, 
No  thief  is  Haf  bur  the  King." 


1 9o  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

But  when  they  came  to  Signy's  bower 
Low  it  lay  in  embers  red ; 
And  when  they  came  to  the  gallows  tree, 
Hafbur  was  stark  and  dead. 

They  took  him  the  King's  son  Hafbur, 

Swathed  him  in  linen  white, 

And  laid  him  in  the  earth  of  Christ 

By  Signy  his  delight. 

O  wilt  thou  win  me  then^ 

or  as  fair  a  maid  as  I  be? 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS 


i 


T  was  Goldilocks  woke  up  in  the  morn 
At  the  first  of  the  shearing  of  the  corn. 


There  stood  his  mother  on  the  hearth 
And  of  new-leased  wheat  was  little  dearth. 

There  stood  his  sisters  by  the  quern, 

For  the  high-noon  cakes  they  needs  must  earn. 

"  O  tell  me  Goldilocks  my  son, 

Why  hast  thou  coloured  raiment  on  ?  " 

"  Why  should  I  wear  the  hodden  grey 
When  I  am  light  of  heart  to-day  ?  " 

"  O  tell  us,  brother,  why  ye  wear 
In  reaping-tide  the  scarlet  gear  ? 

Why  hangeth  the  sharp  sword  at  thy  side 
When  through  the  land  'tis  the  hook  goes  wide  ? ! 

"Gay-clad  am  I  that  men  may  know 

The  freeman's  son  where'er  I  go. 
191 


1 92  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

The  grinded  sword  at  side  I  bear 
Lest  I  the  dastard's  word  should  hear." 

"  O  tell  me  Goldilocks  my  son, 

Of  whither  away  thou  wilt  be  gone  ?  " 

"  The  morn  is  fair  and  the  world  is  wide, 
And  here  no  more  will  I  abide." 

"  O  Brother,  when  wilt  thou  come  again?" 
"  The  autumn  drought,  and  the  winter  rain, 

The  frost  and  the  snow,  and  St.  David's  wind, 
All  these  that  were  time  out  of  mind, 

All  these  a  many  times  shall  be 
Ere  the  Upland  Town  again  I  see." 

"  O  Goldilocks  my  son,  farewell, 

As  thou  wendest  the  world  'twixt  home  and  hell ! " 

"O  brother  Goldilocks,  farewell, 

Come  back  with  a  tale  for  men  to  tell ! " 


So  'tis  wellaway  for  Goldilocks, 

As  he  left  the  land  of  the  wheaten  shocks. 

He's  gotten  him  far  from  the  Upland  Town, 
And  he's  gone  by  Dale  and  he's  gone  by  Down. 

He's  come  to  the  wild-wood  dark  and  drear, 
Where  never  the  bird's  song  doth  he  hear. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    193 

He  has  slept  in  the  moonless  wood  and  dim 
With  never  a  voice  to  comfort  him. 

He  has  risen  up  under  the  little  light 

Where  the  noon  is  as  dark  as  the  summer  night. 

Six  days  therein  has  he  walked  alone 

Till  his  scrip  was  bare  and  his  meat  was  done. 

On  the  seventh  morn  in  the  mirk,  mirk  wood, 
He  saw  sight  that  he  deemed  was  good. 

It  was  as  one  sees  a  flower  a-bloom 
In  the  dusky  heat  of  a  shuttered  room. 

He  deemed  the  fair  thing  far  aloof, 
And  would  go  and  put  it  to  the  proof. 

But  the  very  first  step  he  made  from  the  place 
He  met  a  maiden  face  to  face. 

Face  to  face,  and  so  close  was  she 
That  their  lips  met  soft  and  lovingly. 

Sweet-mouthed  she  was,  and  fair  he  wist ; 
And  again  in  the  darksome  wood  they  kissed. 

Then  first  in  the  wood  her  voice  he  heard, 
As  sweet  as  the  song  of  the  summer  bird. 

"  O  thou  fair  man  with  the  golden  head, 
What  is  the  name  of  thee  ?  "  she  said. 

N 


i94  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  My  name  is  Goldilocks,"  said  he ; 

"  O  sweet-breathed,  what  is  the  name  of  thee  ?  " 

"  O  Goldilocks  the  Swain,"  she  said, 
"  My  name  is  Goldilocks  the  Maid." 

He  spake,  "  Love  me  as  I  love  thee, 
And  Goldilocks  one  flesh  shall  be." 

She  said,  "  Fair  man,  I  wot  not  how 
Thou  lovest,  but  I  love  thee  now. 

But  come  a  little  hence  away, 
That  I  may  see  thee  in  the  day. 

For  hereby  is  a  wood-lawn  clear 
And  good  for  awhile  for  us  it  were." 

Therewith  she  took  him  by  the  hand 
And  led  him  into  the  lighter  land. 


There  on  the  grass  they  sat  adown. 
Clad  she  was  in  a  kirtle  brown. 

In  all  the  world  was  never  maid 
So  fair,  so  evilly  arrayed. 

No  shoes  upon  her  feet  she  had, 
And  scantly  were  her  shoulders  clad ; 

Through  her  brown  kirtle's  rents  full  wide 
Shone  out  the  sleekness  of  her  side. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          195 

An  old  scrip  hung  about  her  neck, 
Nought  of  her  raiment  did  she  reck. 

No  shame  of  all  her  rents  had  she ; 
She  gazed  upon  him  eagerly. 

She  leaned  across  the  grassy  space 
And  put  her  hands  about  his  face. 

She  said  :  "  O  hunger-pale  art  thou, 

Yet  shalt  thou  eat  though  I  hunger  now." 

She  took  him  apples  from  her  scrip, 
She  kissed  him,  cheek  and  chin  and  lip. 

She  took  him  cakes  of  woodland  bread : 
"Whiles  am  I  hunger-pinched,"  she  said. 

She  had  a  gourd  and  a  pilgrim  shell ; 
She  took  him  water  from  the  well. 

She  stroked  his  breast  and  his  scarlet  gear ; 
She  spake,  "  How  brave  thou  art  and  dear ! " 

Her  arms  about  him  did  she  wind ; 
He  felt  her  body  dear  and  kind. 


"O  love,"  she  said,  "now  two  are  one, 
And  whither  hence  shall  we  be  gone  ?  " 

"  Shall  we  fare  further  than  this  wood," 
Quoth  he,  "  I  deem  it  dear  and  good  ?  " 


196  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

She  shook  her  head,  and  laughed,  and  spake ; 
"  Rise  up  !     For  thee,  not  me,  I  quake. 

Had  she  been  minded  me  to  slay 
Sure  she  had  done  it  ere  to-day. 

But  thou  :  this  hour  the  crone  shall  know 
That  thou  art  come,  her  very  foe. 

No  minute  more  on  tidings  wait, 
Lest  e'en  this  minute  be  too  late." 

She  led  him  from  the  sunlit  green, 
Going  sweet-stately  as  a  queen. 

There  in  the  dusky  wood,  and  dim, 
As  forth  they  went,  she  spake  to  him 

"  Fair  man,  few  people  have  I  seen 
Amidst  this  world  of  woodland  green  : 

But  I  would  have  thee  tell  me  now 
If  there  be  many  such  as  thou." 

"  Betwixt  the  mountains  and  the  sea, 
O  Sweet,  be  many  such,"  said  he. 

Athwart  the  glimmering  air  and  dim 
With  wistful  eyes  she  looked  on  him. 

"  But  ne'er  an  one  so  shapely  made 
Mine  eyes  have  looked  upon,"  she  said. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          197 

He  kissed  her  face,  and  cried  in  mirth : 

"  Where  hast  thou  dwelt  then  on  the  earth  ?  " 


"  Ever,"  she  said,  "  I  dwell  alone 
With  a  hard-handed  cruel  crone. 

And  of  this  crone  am  I  the  thrall 
To  serve  her  still  in  bower  and  hall ; 

And  fetch  and  carry  in  the  wood, 
And  do  whate'er  she  deemeth  good. 

But  whiles  a  sort  of  folk  there  come 
And  seek  my  mistress  at  her  home ; 

But  such-like  are  they  to  behold 
As  make  my  very  blood  run  cold. 

Oft  have  I  thought,  if  there  be  none 

On  earth  save  these,  would  all  were  done ! 

Forsooth,  I  knew  it  was  not  so, 

But  that  fairer  folk  on  earth  did  grow. 

But  fain  and  full  is  the  heart  in  me 
To  know  that  folk  are  like  to  thee." 

Then  hand  in  hand  they  stood  awhile 
Till  her  tears  rose  up  beneath  his  smile. 

And  he  must  fold  her  to  his  breast 
To  give  her  heart  a  while  of  rest 


198  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Till  sundered  she  and  gazed  about, 
And  bent  her  brows  as  one  in  doubt. 

She  spake :  "  The  wood  is  growing  thin, 
Into  the  full  light  soon  shall  we  win. 

Now  crouch  we  that  we  be  not  seen, 
Under  yon  bramble-bushes  green." 

Under  the  bramble-bush  they  lay 
Betwixt  the  dusk  and  the  open  day. 


"  O  Goldilocks  my  love,  look  forth 

And  let  me  know  what  thou  seest  of  worth." 

He  said  :  "I  see  a  house  of  stone, 
A  castle  excellently  done." 

"Yea,"  quoth  she,  "There  doth  the  mistress  dwell. 
What  next  thou  seest  shalt  thou  tell." 

"  What  lookest  thou  to  see  come  forth  ?  " 
"  Maybe  a  white  bear  of  the  North." 

"Then  shall  my  sharp  sword  lock  his  mouth." 
"Nay,"  she  said,  "or  a  worm  of  the  South." 

"  Then  shall  my  sword  his  hot  blood  cool." 
"  Nay,  or  a  whelming  poison-pool." 

"The  trees  its  swelling  flood  shall  stay, 
And  thrust  its  venomed  lip  away." 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    199 

"  Nay,  it  may  be  a  wild-fire  flash 
To  burn  thy  lovely  limbs  to  ash." 

"  On  mine  own  hallows  shall  I  call, 
And  dead  its  flickering  flame  shall  fall." 

"  O  Goldilocks  my  love,  I  fear 
That  ugly  death  shall  seek  us  here. 

Look  forth,  O  Goldilocks  my  love, 
That  I  thine  hardy  heart  may  prove. 

What  cometh  down  the  stone-wrought  stair 
That  leadeth  up  to  the  castle  fair  ?  " 

"  Adown  the  doorward  stair  of  stone 
There  cometh  a  woman  all  alone." 

"  Yea,  that  forsooth  shall  my  mistress  be  : 
O  Goldilocks,  what  like  is  she  ?  " 

"  O  fair  she  is  of  her  array, 

As  hitherward  she  wends  her  way." 

"  Unlike  her  wont  is  that  indeed : 
Is  she  not  foul  beneath  her  weed  ?  " 

"  O  nay,  nay  !     But  most  wondrous  fair 
Of  all  the  women  earth  doth  bear." 

"  O  Goldilocks,  my  heart,  my  heart ! 
Woe,  woe  !  for  now  we  drift  apart." 


200  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

But  up  he  sprang  from  the  bramble-side, 
And  "  O  thou  fairest  one  ! "  he  cried  : 

And  forth  he  ran  that  Queen  to  meet, 
And  fell  before  her  gold-clad  feet. 

About  his  neck  her  arms  she  cast, 

And  into  the  fair-built  house  they  passed. 

And  under  the  bramble-bushes  lay 
Unholpen,  Goldilocks  the  may. 


Thenceforth  a  while  of  time  there  wore, 
And  Goldilocks  came  forth  no  more. 

Throughout  that  house  he  wandered  wide, 
Both  up  and  down,  from  side  to  side. 

But  never  he  saw  an  evil  crone, 

But  a  full  fair  Queen  on  a  golden  throne. 

Never  a  barefoot  maid  did  he  see, 
But  a  gay  and  gallant  company. 

He  sat  upon  the  golden  throne, 
And  beside  him  sat  the  Queen  alone. 

Kind  she  was,  as  she  loved  him  well, 
And  many  a  merry  tale  did  tell. 

But  nought  he  laughed,  nor  spake  again, 
For  all  his  life  was  waste  and  vain. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          201 

Cold  was  his  heart,  and  all  afraid 
To  think  on  Goldilocks  the  Maid. 


Withal  now  was  the  wedding  dight 
When  he  should  wed  that  lady  bright. 

The  night  was  gone,  and  the  day  was  up 
When  they  should  drink  the  bridal  cup. 

And  he  sat  at  the  board  beside  the  Queen, 
Amidst  of  a  guest-folk  well  beseen. 

But  scarce  was  midmorn  on  the  hall, 
When  down  did  the  mirk  of  midnight  fall. 

Then  up  and  down  from  the  board  they  ran, 
And  man  laid  angry  hand  on  man. 

There  was  the  cry,  and  the  laughter  shrill, 
And  every  manner  word  of  ill. 

Whoso  of  men  had  hearkened  it, 

Had  deemed  he  had  woke  up  over  the  Pit. 

Then  spake  the  Queen  o'er  all  the  crowd, 
And  grim  was  her  speech,  and  harsh,  and  loud  : 

"  Hold  now  your  peace,  ye  routing  swine, 
While  I  sit  with  mine  own  love  over  the  wine  ! 


For  this  dusk  is  the  very  deed  of  a  foe, 
Or  under  the  sun  no  man  I  know." 


.,0 


202  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

And  hard  she  spake,  and  loud  she  cried 

Till  the  noise  of  the  bickering  guests  had  died 

Then  again  she  spake  amidst  of  the  mirk, 
In  a  voice  like  an  unoiled  wheel  at  work  : 

"  Whoso  would  have  a  goodly  gift, 
Let  him  bring  aback  the  sun  to  the  lift 

Let  him  bring  aback  the  light  and  the  day, 
And  rich  and  in  peace  he  shall  go  his  way." 

Out  spake  a  voice  was  clean  and  clear : 
"  Lo,  I  am  she  to  dight  your  gear ; 

But  I  for  the  deed  a  gift  shall  gain, 
To  sit  by  Goldilocks  the  Swain. 

I  shall  sit  at  the  board  by  the  bridegroom's  side, 
And  be  betwixt  him  and  the  bride. 

I  shall  eat  of  his  dish,  and  drink  of  his  cup, 
Until  for  the  bride-bed  ye  rise  up." 

Then  was  the  Queen's  word  wailing-wild : 
"  E'en  so  must  it  be,  thou  Angel's  child. 

Thou  shalt  sit  by  my  groom  till  the  dawn  of  night, 
And  then  shalt  thou  wend  thy  ways  aright." 

Said  the  voice,  "  Yet  shalt  thou  swear  an  oath 
That  free  I  shall  go  though  ye  be  loth." 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          203 

"  How  shall  I  swear  ?  "  the  false  Queen  spake : 
"  Wherewith  the  sure  oath  shall  I  make  ?  " 

"  Thou  shalt  swear  by  the  one  eye  left  in  thine  head, 
And  the  throng  of  the  ghosts  of  the  evil  dead." 

She  swore  the  oath,  and  then  she  spake : 
"  Now  let  the  second  dawn  awake." 

And  e'en  therewith  the  thing  was  done ; 

There  was  peace  in  the  hall,  and  the  light  of  the  sun. 

And  again  the  Queen  was  calm  and  fair, 
And  courteous  sat  the  guest-folk  there. 

Yet  unto  Goldilocks  it  seemed 

As  if  amidst  the  night  he  dreamed ; 

As  if  he  sat  in  a  grassy  place, 

While  slim  hands  framed  his  hungry  face ; 

As  if  in  the  clearing  of  the  wood 

One  gave  him  bread  and  apples  good ; 

And  nought  he  saw  of  the  guest-folk  gay, 
And  nought  of  all  the  Queen's  array. 

Yet  saw  he  betwixt  board  and  door, 
A  slim  maid  tread  the  chequered  floor. 

Her  gown  of  green  so  fair  was  wrought, 
That  clad  her  body  seemed  with  nought 


204  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

But  blossoms  of  the  summer-tide, 

That  wreathed  her,  limbs  and  breast  and  side. 

And,  stepping  towards  him  daintily, 
A  basket  in  her  hand  had  she. 

And  as  she  went,  from  head  to  feet, 
Surely  was  she  most  dainty-sweet. 

Love  floated  round  her,  and  her  eyes 
Gazed  from  her  fairness  glad  and  wise  ; 

But  babbling-loud  the  guests  were  grown ; 
Unnoted  was  she  and  unknown. 


Now  Goldilocks  she  sat  beside, 

But  nothing  changed  was  the  Queenly  bride ; 

Yea  too,  and  Goldilocks  the  Swain 
Was  grown  but  dull  and  dazed  again. 

The  Queen  smiled  o'er  the  guest-rich  board, 
Although  his  wine  the  Maiden  poured ; 

Though  from  his  dish  the  Maiden  ate, 
The  Queen  sat  happy  and  sedate. 

But  now  the  Maiden  fell  to  speak 

From  lips  that  well-nigh  touched  his  cheek : 

"  O  Goldilocks,  dost  thou  forget  ? 
Or  mindest  thou  the  mirk-wood  yet  ? 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    205 

Forgettest  thou  the  hunger-pain 

And  all  thy  young  life  made  but  vain  ? 

How  there  was  nought  to  help  or  aid, 
But  for  poor  Goldilocks  the  Maid  ?  " 

She  murmured,  "  Each  to  each  we  two, 
Our  faces  from  the  wood-mirk  grew. 

Hast  thou  forgot  the  grassy  place, 
And  love  betwixt  us  face  to  face  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  how  fair  I  deemed 

Thy  face  ?     How  fair  thy  garment  seemed  ? 

Thy  kisses  on  my  shoulders  bare, 
Through  rents  of  the  poor  raiment  there  ? 

My  arms  that  loved  thee  nought  unkissed 
All  o'er  from  shoulder  unto  wrist  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  how  brave  thou  wert, 
Thou  with  thy  fathers'  weapon  girt ; 

When  underneath  the  bramble-bush 
I  quaked  like  river-shaken  rush, 

Wondering  what  new-wrought  shape  of  death 
Should  quench  my  new  love- quickened  breath? 

Or  else  :  forget'st  thou,  Goldilocks, 
Thine  own  land  of  the  wheaten  shocks  ? 


206  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Thy  mother  and  thy  sisters  dear, 

Thou  said'st  would  bide  thy  true-love  there  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot  ?     Hast  thou  forgot  ? 
O  love,  my  love,  I  move  thee  not." 


Silent  the  fair  Queen  sat  and  smiled, 
And  heeded  nought  the  Angel's  child, 

For  like  an  image  fashioned  fair 
Still  sat  the  Swain  with  empty  stare. 

These  words  seemed  spoken  not.  but  writ 
As  foolish  tales  through  night-dreams  flit. 

Vague  pictures  passed  before  his  sight, 
As  in  the  first  dream  of  the  night. 


But  the  Maiden  opened  her  basket  fair, 
And  set  two  doves  on  the  table  there. 

And  soft  they  cooed,  and  sweet  they  billed 
Like  man  and  maid  with  love  fulfilled. 

Therewith  the  Maiden  reached  a  hand 
To  a  dish  that  on  the  board  did  stand ; 

And  she  crumbled  a  share  of  the  spice-loaf  brown, 
And  the  Swain  upon  her  hand  looked  down  : 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    207 

Then  unto  the  fowl  his  eyes  he  turned ; 
And  as  in  a  dream  his  bowels  yearned 

For  somewhat  that  he  could  not  name ; 
And  into  his  heart  a  hope  there  came. 

And  still  he  looked  on  the  hands  of  the  Maid, 
As  before  the  fowl  the  crumbs  she  laid 

And  he  murmured  low,  "  O  Goldilocks  ! 
Were  we  but  amid  the  wheaten  shocks ! " 

Then  the  false  Queen  knit  her  brows  and  laid 
A  fair  white  hand  by  the  hand  of  the  Maid. 

He  turned  his  eyes  away  thereat, 
And  closer  to  the  Maiden  sat. 


But  the  queen-bird  now  the  carle-bird  fed 
Till  all  was  gone  of  the  sugared  bread. 

Then  with  wheedling  voice  for  more  he  craved, 
And  the  Maid  a  share  from  the  spice-loaf  shaved 

And  the  crumbs  within  her  hollow  hand 
She  held  where  the  creeping  doves  did  stand. 

But  Goldilocks,  he  looked  and  longed, 

And  saw  how  the  carle  the  queen-bird  wronged. 

For  when  she  came  to  the  hand  to  eat 
The  hungry  queen-bird  thence  he  beat. 


208  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Then  Goldilocks  the  Swain  spake  low : 
"  Foul  fall  thee,  bird,  thou  doest  now 

As  I  to  Goldilocks,  my  sweet, 

Who  gave  my  hungry  mouth  to  eat." 

He  felt  her  hand  as  he  did  speak, 
He  felt  her  face  against  his  cheek. 

He  turned  and  stood  in  the  evil  hall, 
And  swept  her  up  in  arms  withal. 

Then  was  there  hubbub  wild  and  strange, 
And  swiftly  all  things  there  'gan  change. 

The  fair  Queen  into  a  troll  was  grown, 
A  one-eyed,  bow-backed,  haggard  crone. 

And  though  the  hall  was  yet  full  fair, 
And  bright  the  sunshine  streamed  in  there, 

On  evil  shapes  it  fell  forsooth  : 
Swine-heads ;  small  red  eyes  void  of  ruth ; 

And  bare-boned  bodies  of  vile  things, 
And  evil-feathered  bat-felled  wings. 

And  all  these  mopped  and  mowed  and  grinned, 
And  sent  strange  noises  down  the  wind. 

There  stood  those  twain  unchanged  alone 
To  face  the  horror  of  the  crone ; 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          209 

She  crouched  against  them  by  the  board ; 
And  cried  the  Maid  :  "  Thy  sword,  thy  sword ! 

Thy  sword,  O  Goldilocks  !     For  see 
She  will  not  keep  her  oath  to  me." 

Out  flashed  the  blade  therewith.     He  saw 
The  foul  thing  sidelong  toward  them  draw, 

Holding  within  her  hand  a  cup 
Wherein  some  dreadful  drink  seethed  up. 

Then  Goldilocks  cried  out  and  smote, 
And  the  sharp  blade  sheared  the  evil  throat. 

The  head  fell  noseling  to  the  floor; 
The  liquor  from  the  cup  did  pour, 

And  ran  along  a  sparkling  flame 
That  nigh  unto  their  footsoles  came. 

Then  empty  straightway  was  the  hall, 
Save  for  those  twain,  and  she  withal. 

So  fled  away  the  Maid  and  Man, 
And  down  the  stony  stairway  ran. 


Fast  fled  they  o'er  the  sunny  grass, 
Yet  but  a  little  way  did  pass 

Ere  cried  the  Maid :  "  Now  cometh  forth 
The  snow-white  ice-bear  of  the  North ; 


210  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Turn,  Goldilocks,  and  heave  up  sword ! " 
Then  fast  he  stood  upon  the  sward, 

And  faced  the  beast,  that  whined  and  cried, 
And  shook  his  head  from  side  to  side. 

But  round  him  the  Swain  danced  and  leaped. 
And  soon  the  grisly  head  he  reaped. 

And  then  the  ancient  blade  he  sheathed, 
And  ran  unto  his  love  sweet-breathed ; 

And  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  ran 
Fast  from  that  house,  the  bane  of  man. 


Yet  therewithal  he  spake  her  soft 
And  kissed  her  over  oft  and  oft, 

Until  from  kissed  and  trembling  mouth 
She  cried  :  "  The  Dragon  of  the  South !  " 

He  set  her  down  and  turned  about, 
And  drew  the  eager  edges  out. 

And  therewith  scaly  coil  on  coil 
Reared  'gainst  his  face  the  mouth  aboil : 

The  gaping  jaw  and  teeth  of  dread 
Was  dark  'twixt  heaven  and  his  head. 

But  with  no  fear,  no  thought,  no  word, 
He  thrust  the  thin-edged  ancient  sword. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    211 

And  the  hot  blood  ran  from  the  hairy  throat, 
And  set  the  summer  grass  afloat. 

Then  back  he  turned  and  caught  her  hand, 
And  never  a  minute  did  they  stand. 

But  as  they  ran  on  toward  the  wood, 
He  deemed  her  swift  feet  fair  and  good. 


She  looked  back  o'er  her  shoulder  fair : 
"  The  whelming  poison-pool  is  here ; 

And  now  availeth  nought  the  blade : 
O  if  my  cherished  trees  might  aid ! 

But  now  my  feet  fail.     Leave  me  then  ! 
And  hold  my  memory  dear  of  men." 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  again ; 
Of  her  dear  side  was  he  full  fain. 

Her  body  in  his  arms  was  dear : 

"  Sweet  art  thou,  though  we  perish  here ! n 

Like  quicksilver  came  on  the  flood : 
But  lo,  the  borders  of  the  wood  ! 

She  slid  from  out  his  arms  and  stayed ; 
Round  a  great  oak  her  arms  she  laid. 

"  If  e'er  I  saved  thee,  lovely  tree, 
From  axe  and  saw,  now  succour  me : 


212  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

Look  how  the  venom  creeps  anigh, 
Help  !  lest  thou  see  me  writhe  and  die." 

She  crouched  beside  the  upheaved  root, 
The  bubbling  venom  touched  her  foot ; 

Then  with  a  sucking  gasping  sound 
It  ebbed  back  o'er  the  blighted  ground. 


Up  then  she  rose  and  took  his  hand 
And  never  a  moment  did  they  stand. 

"  Come,  love,"  she  cried,  "  the  ways  I  know, 
How  thick  soe'er  the  thickets  grow. 

O  love,  I  love  thee  !     O  thine  heart ! 
How  mighty  and  how  kind  thou  art ! " 

Therewith  they  saw  the  tree-dusk  lit, 
Bright  grey  the  great  boles  gleamed  on  it. 

"  O  flee,"  she  said,  "  the  sword  is  nought 
Against  the  flickering  fire-flaught." 

"  But  this  availeth  yet,"  said  he, 
"That  Hallows  All  our  love  may  see." 

He  turned  about  and  faced  the  glare : 
"  O  Mother,  help  us,  kind  and  fair ! 

Now  help  me,  true  St.  Nicholas, 
If  ever  truly  thine  I  was  ! " 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          213 

Therewith  the  wild-fire  waned  and  paled, 
And  in  the  wood  the  light  nigh  failed ; 

And  all  about  'twas  as  the  night. 
He  said  :  "  Now  won  is  all  our  fight, 

And  now  meseems  all  were  but  good 
If  thou  mightst  bring  us  from  the  wood." 

She  fawned  upon  him,  face  and  breast ; 
She  said  :  "  It  hangs  'twixt  worst  and  best. 

And  yet,  O  love,  if  thou  be  true, 
One  thing  alone  thou  hast  to  do." 

Sweetly  he  kissed  her,  cheek  and  chin  : 
"  What  work  thou  biddest  will  I  win." 

"O  love,  my  love,  I  needs  must  sleep; 
Wilt  thou  my  slumbering  body  keep, 

And,  toiling  sorely,  still  bear  on 

The  love  thou  seemest  to  have  won  ?  " 

UO  easy  toil,"  he  said,  "to  bless 
Mine  arms  with  all  thy  loveliness." 

She  smiled ;  "  Yea,  easy  it  may  seem, 
But  harder  is  it  than  ye  deem. 

For  hearken  !     Whatso  thou  mayst  see, 
Piteous  as  it  may  seem  to  thee, 


2i4  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

Heed  not  nor  hearken  !  bear  me  forth, 

As  though  nought  else  were  aught  of  worth. 

For  all  earth's  wealth  that  may  be  found 
Lay  me  not  sleeping  on  the  ground, 

To  help,  to  hinder,  or  to  save ! 

Or  there  for  me  thou  diggest  a  grave." 


He  took  her  body  on  his  arm, 

Her  slumbering  head  lay  on  his  barm. 

Then  glad  he  bore  her  on  the  way, 
And  the  wood  grew  lighter  with  the  day. 

All  still  it  was,  till  suddenly 
He  heard  a  bitter  wail  near  by. 

Yet  on  he  went  until  he  heard 
The  cry  become  a  shapen  word : 

"  Help  me,  O  help,  thou  passer  by ! 
Turn  from  the  path,  let  me  not  die ! 

I  am  a  woman  ;  bound  and  left 
To  perish  ;  of  all  help  bereft." 

Then  died  the  voice  out  in  a  moan ; 
He  looked  upon  his  love,  his  own, 

And  minding  all  she  spake  to  him 

Strode  onward  through  the  wild-wood  dim. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          215 

But  lighter  grew  the  woodland  green 
Till  clear  the  shapes  of  things  were  seen. 

And  therewith  wild  halloos  he  heard, 
And  shrieks,  and  cries  of  one  afeard. 

Nigher  it  grew  and  yet  more  nigh 
Till  burst  from  out  a  brake  near  by 

A  woman  bare  of  breast  and  limb, 
Who  turned  a  piteous  face  to  him 

E'en  as  she  ran  :  for  hard  at  heel 
Followed  a  man  with  brandished  steel, 

And  yelling  mouth.     Then  the  Swain  stood 
One  moment  in  the  glimmering  wood 

Trembling,  ashamed  :  Yet  now  grown  wise 
Deemed  all  a  snare  for  ears  and  eyes. 

So  onward  swiftlier  still  he  strode 
And  cast  all  thought  on  his  fair  load. 

And  yet  in  but  a  little  space 

Back  came  the  yelling  shrieking  chase, 

And  well-nigh  gripped  now  by  the  man, 
Straight  unto  him  the  woman  ran ; 

And  underneath  the  gleaming  steel 
E'en  at  his  very  feet  did  kneel. 


216  POEMS  BY  THE  WAY 

She  looked  up ;  sobs  were  all  her  speech, 
Yet  sorely  did  her  face  beseech. 

While  o'er  her  head  the  chaser  stared, 
Shaking  aloft  the  edges  bared. 

Doubted  the  Swain,  and  a  while  did  stand 
As  she  took  his  coat-lap  in  her  hand. 

Upon  his  hand  he  felt  her  breath 
Hot  with  the  dread  of  present  death. 

Sleek  was  her  arm  on  his  scarlet  coat, 
The  sobbing  passion  rose  in  his  throat. 

But  e'en  therewith  he  looked  aside 
And  saw  the  face  of  the  sleeping  bride. 

Then  he  tore  his  coat  from  the  woman's  hand, 
And  never  a  moment  there  did  stand. 

But  swiftly  thence  away  he  strode 
Along  the  dusky  forest  road. 

And  there  rose  behind  him  laughter  shrill, 
And  then  was  the  windless  wood  all  still, 

He  looked  around  o'er  all  the  place, 
But  saw  no  image  of  the  chase. 

And  as  he  looked  the  night-mirk  now 
O'er  all  the  tangled  wood  'gan  flow. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          217 

Then  stirred  the  sweetling  that  he  bore, 

And  she  slid  adown  from  his  arms  once  more. 

Nought  might  he  see  her  well-loved  face  ; 
But  he  felt  her  lips  in  the  mirky  place. 

"  Tis  night,"  she  said,  "  and  the  false  day's  gone, 
And  we  twain  in  the  wild-wood  all  alone. 

Night  o'er  the  earth ;  so  rest  we  here 
Until  to-morrow's  sun  is  clear. 

For  overcome  is  every  foe 

And  home  to-morrow  shall  we  go." 

So  'neath  the  trees  they  lay,  those  twain, 
And  to  them  the  darksome  night  was  gain. 

But  when  the  morrow's  dawn  was  grey 
They  woke  and  kissed  whereas  they  lay. 

And  when  on  their  feet  they  came  to  stand 
Swain  Goldilocks  stretched  out  his  hand. 

And  he  spake  :  "  O  love,  my  love  indeed, 
Where  now  is  gone  thy  goodly  weed? 

For  again  thy  naked  feet  I  see, 

And  thy  sweet  sleek  arms  so  kind  to  me. 

Through  thy  rent  kirtle  once  again 
Thy  shining  shoulder  showeth  plain." 


218  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

She  blushed  as  red  as  the  sun-sweet  rose : 
"  My  garments  gay  were  e'en  of  those 

That  the  false  Queen  dight  to  slay  my  heart 
And  sore  indeed  was  their  fleshly  smart 

Yet  must  I  bear  them,  well-beloved, 
Until  thy  truth  and  troth  was  proved 

And  this  tattered  coat  is  now  for  a  sign 
That  thou  hast  won  me  to  be  thine. 

Now  wilt  thou  lead  along  thy  maid 
To  meet  thy  kindred  unafraid." 

As  stoops  the  falcon  on  the  dove 
He  cast  himself  about  her  love. 

He  kissed  her  over,  cheek  and  chin, 
He  kissed  the  sweetness  of  her  skin. 

Then  hand  in  hand  they  went  their  way 
Till  the  wood  grew  light  with  the  outer  day. 

At  last  behind  them  lies  the  wood, 
And  before  are  the  Upland  Acres  good. 

On  the  hill's  brow  awhile  they  stay 
At  midmorn  of  the  merry  day. 

He  sheareth  a  deal  from  his  kirtle  meet, 
To  make  her  sandals  for  her  feet. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS    219 

He  windeth  a  wreath  of  the  beechen  tree, 
Lest  men  her  shining  shoulders  see. 

And  a  wreath  of  woodbine  sweet,  to  hide 
The  rended  raiment  of  her  side ; 

And  a  crown  of  poppies  red  as  wine, 
Lest  on  her  head  the  hot  sun  shine. 

She  kissed  her  love  withal  and  smiled  : 
"  Lead  forth,  O  love,  the  Woodland  Child ! 

Most  meet  and  right  meseems  it  now 
That  I  am  clad  with  the  woodland  bough. 

For  betwixt  the  oak-tree  and  the  thorn 
Meseemeth  erewhile  was  I  born. 

And  if  my  mother  aught  I  knew, 

It  was  of  the  woodland  folk  she  grew. 

And  O  that  thou  art  well  at  ease 
To  wed  the  daughter  of  the  trees  ! " 

Now  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Go  down  amidst  the  wheaten  shocks, 

But  when  anigh  to  the  town  they  come, 
Lo  there  is  the  wain  a -wending  home, 

And  many  a  man  and  maid  beside, 
Who  tossed  the  sickles  up,  and  cried : 


220  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

"  O  Goldilocks,  now  whither  away  ? 

And  what  wilt  thou  with  the  woodland  may  ?  " 

"  O  this  is  Goldilocks  my  bride, 

And  we  come  adown  from  the  wild-wood  side, 

And  unto  the  Fathers'  House  we  wend 
To  dwell  therein  till  life  shall  end." 

"Up  then  on  the  wain,  that  ye  may  see 
From  afar  how  thy  mother  bideth  thee. 

That  ye  may  see  how  kith  and  kin 
Abide  thee,  bridal  brave  to  win." 

So  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Sit  high  aloft  on  the  wheaten  shocks, 

And  fair  maids  sing  before  the  wain, 
For  all  of  Goldilocks  are  fain. 


But  when  they  came  to  the  Fathers1  door, 
There  stood  his  mother  old  and  hoar. 

Yet  was  her  hair  with  grey  but  blent, 
When  forth  from  the  Upland  Town  he  went 

There  by  the  door  his  sisters  stood  ; 
Full  fair  they  were  and  fresh  of  blood ; 

Little  they  were  when  he  went  away  j 
Now  each  is  meet  for  a  young  man's  may. 


GOLDILOCKS  AND  GOLDILOCKS          221 

"  O  tell  me,  Goldilocks,  my  son, 

What  are  the  deeds  that  thou  hast  done  ?  " 

"  I  have  wooed  me  a  wife  in  the  forest  wild, 
And  home  I  bring  the  Woodland  Child." 

"A  little  deed  to  do,  O  son, 

So  long  a  while  as  thou  wert  gone." 

"  O  mother,  yet  is  the  summer  here 
Now  I  bring  aback  my  true-love  dear. 

And  therewith  an  Evil  Thing  have  I  slain  ; 
Yet  I  come  with  the  first-come  harvest-wain. 

"  O  Goldilocks,  my  son,  my  son  ! 

How  good  is  the  deed  that  thou  hast  done  ? 

But  how  long  the  time  that  is  worn  away ! 
Lo  !  white  is  my  hair  that  was  but  grey. 

And  lo  these  sisters  here,  thine  own, 
How  tall,  how  meet  for  men-folk  grown ! 

Come,  see  thy  kin  in  the  feasting-hall, 
And  tell  me  if  thou  knowest  them  all  I 

O  son,  O  son,  we  are  blithe  and  fain ; 

But  the  autumn  drought,  and  the  winter  rain, 

The  frost  and  the  snow,  and  St.  David's  wind, 
All  these  that  were,  time  out  of  mind, 


222  POEMS  BY  THE   WAY 

All  these  a  many  times  have  been 
Since  thou  the  Upland  Town  hast  seen." 


Then  never  a  word  spake  Goldilocks 

Till  they  came  adown  from  the  wheaten  shocks. 

And  there  beside  his  love  he  stood 
And  he  saw  her  body  sweet  and  good. 

Then  round  her  love  his  arms  he  cast : 
"  The  years  are  as  a  tale  gone  past. 

But  many  the  years  that  yet  shall  be 
Of  the  merry  tale  of  thee  and  me. 

Come,  love,  and  look  on  the  Fathers'  Hall, 
And  the  folk  of  the  kindred  one  and  all ! 

For  now  the  Fathers'  House  is  kind, 
And  all  the  ill  is  left  behind. 

And  Goldilocks  and  Goldilocks 

Shall  dwell  in  the  land  of  the  Wheaten  Shocks." 


LOVE    IS    ENOUGH 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 


GILES,  ) 

>  Peasant-folk. 
%  J 


JOAN,  his  Wif 
THE  EMPEROR. 
THE  EMPRESS. 
THE  MAYOR. 

A  COUNCILLOR. 

MASTER  OLIVER,  King  Pharamond's  Foster-father. 

A  NORTHERN  LORD. 

KING  PHARAMOND. 

AZALAIS,  his  Love. 

KING  THEOBALD. 

HONORIUS,  the  Councillor. 

LOVE. 


LOVE    IS    ENOUGH 


ARGUMENT 

This  story,  which  is  told  by  way  of  a  morality  set  before  an  Emperor 
and  Empress  newly  wedded,  showeth  of  a  King  whom  nothing  but 
Love  might  satisfy,  who  left  all  to  seek  Love,  and,  having  found  it, 
found  this  also,  that  he  had  enough,  though  he  lacked  all  else. 

In  the  streets  of  a  great  town  where  the  people  are  gathered 
together  thronging  to  see  the  Emperor  and  Empress  pass. 

GILES 

OOK  long,  Joan,  while  I  hold  you  so, 
For  the  silver  trumpets  come  arow. 

JOAN 

O  the  sweet  sound  !  the  glorious  sight ! 
O  Giles,  Giles,  see  this  glittering  Knight ! 

GILES 

Nay  'tis  the  Marshalls'-sergeant,  sweet — 
— Hold,  neighbour,  let  me  keep  my  feet ! — 
There,  now  your  head  is  up  again  ; 
Thus  held  up  have  you  aught  of  pain  ? 

925  P 


226  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

JOAN 

Nay,  clear  I  see,  and  well  at  ease ! 
God's  body !  what  fair  Kings  be  these  ? 

GILES 

The  Emperor's  chamberlains,  behold 

Their  silver  shoes  and  staves  of  gold. 

Look,  look  !  how  like  some  heaven  come  down 

The  maidens  go  with  girded  gown ! 

JOAN 

Yea,  yea,  and  this  last  row  of  them 
Draw  up  their  kirtles  by  the  hem, 
And  scatter  roses  e'en  like  those 
About  my  father's  garden-close. 

GILES 

Ah  !  have  I  hurt  you  ?     See  the  girls 
Whose  slim  hands  scatter  very  pearls. 

JOAN 

Hold  me  fast,  Giles  !  here  comes  one 
Whose  raiment  flashes  down  the  sun. 

GILES 

O  sweet  mouth  !     O  fair  lids  cast  down  ! 
O  white  brow !     O  the  crown,  the  crown  ! 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  227 

JOAN 

How  near !  if  nigher  I  might  stand 
By  one  ell,  I  could  touch  his  hand. 

GILES 

Look,  Joan  !  if  on  this  side  she  were 
Almost  my  hand  might  touch  her  hair. 

JOAN 
Ah  me  !  what  is  she  thinking  on  ? 

GILES 

Is  he  content  now  all  is  won  ? 

JOAN 

And  does  she  think  as  I  thought,  when 
Betwixt  the  dancing  maids  and  men, 
'Twixt  the  porch  rose-boughs  blossomed  red 
I  saw  the  roses  on  my  bed  ? 

GILES 

Hath  he  such  fear  within  his  heart 
As  I  had,  when  the  wind  did  part 
The  jasmine-leaves,  and  there  within 
The  new-lit  taper  glimmered  thin  ? 


228  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


THE  MUSIC 
(As  the  EMPEROR  and  EMPRESS  enter.) 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH:  though  the  World  be  a-waning 
And  the  woods  have  no  voice  but  the  voice  of  complaining. 

Though  the  sky  be  too  dark  for  dim  eyes  to  discover 
The  gold-cups  and  daisies  fair  blooming  thereunder, 
Though  the  hills  be  held  shadows,  and  the  sea  a  dark  wonder, 

And  this  day  draw  a  veil  over  all  deeds  passed  over, 
Yet  their  hands  shall  not  tremble,  their  feet  shall  not  falter , 
The  void  shall  not  weary,  the  fear  shall  not  alter 

These  lips  and  these  eyes  of  the  loved  and  the  lover. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  229 


THE   EMPEROR 


THE  spears  flashed  by  me,  and  the  swords  swept  round, 
And  in  war's  hopeless  tangle  was  I  bound, 
But  straw  and  stubble  were  the  cold  points  found, 
For  still  thy  hands  led  down  the  weary  way.      1 


THE   EMPRESS 


Through  hall  and  street  they  led  me  as  a  queen, 
They  looked  to  see  me  proud  and  cold  of  mien, 
I  heeded  not  though  all  my  tears  were  seen, 
For  still  I  dreamed  of  thee  throughout  the  day. 

THE   EMPEROR 

Wild  over  bow  and  bulwark  swept  the  sea 
Unto  the  iron  coast  upon  our  lee, 
Like  painted  cloth  its  fury  was  to  me, 
For  still  thy  hands  led  down  the  weary  way. 

THE   EMPRESS 

They  spoke  to  me  of  war  within  the  land, 
They  bade  me  sign  defiance  and  command ; 
I  heeded  not  though  thy  name  left  my  hand, 
For  still  I  dreamed  of  thee  throughout  the  day. 

THE   EMPEROR 

But  now  that  I  am  come,  and  side  by  side 
We  go,  and  men  cry  gladly  on  the  bride 
And  tremble  at  the  image  of  my  pride, 
Where  is  thy  hand  to  lead  me  down  the  way  ? 


230  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

THE   EMPRESS 

But  now  that  thou  art  come,  and  heaven  and  earth 
Are  laughing  in  the  fulness  of  their  mirth, 
A  shame  I  knew  not  in  my  heart  has  birth — 
— Draw  me  through  dreams  unto  the  end  of  day ! 

THE   EMPEROR 

Behold,  behold,  how  weak  my  heart  is  grown 
Now  all  the  heat  of  its  desire  is  known  ! 
Pearl  beyond  price  I  fear  to  call  mine  own, 
Where  is  thy  hand  to  lead  me  down  the  way  ? 

THE   EMPRESS 

Behold,  behold,  how  little  I  may  move ! 
Think  in  thy  heart  how  terrible  is  Love, 
O  thou  who  know'st  my  soul  as  God  above — 
— Draw  me  through  dreams  unto  the  end  of  day ! 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  231 


The  stage  for  the  play  in  another  part  of  the  street^  and  the 
people  thronging  all  about. 


GILES 

HERE,  Joan,  this  is  so  good  a  place 
Tis  worth  the  scramble  and  the  race ! 
There  is  the  Empress  just  sat  down, 
Her  white  hands  on  her  golden  gown, 
While  yet  the  Emperor  stands  to  hear 
The  welcome  of  the  bald-head  Mayor 
Unto  the  show ;  and  you  shall  see 
The  player-folk  come  in  presently. 
The  king  of  whom  is  e'en  that  one, 
Who  wandering  but  a  while  agone 
Stumbled  upon  our  harvest-home 
That  August  when  you  might  not  come. 
Betwixt  the  stubble  and  the  grass 
Great  mirth  indeed  he  brought  to  pass. 
But  liefer  were  I  to  have  seen 
Your  nimble  feet  tread  down  the  green 
In  threesome  dance  to  pipe  and  fife. 


JOAN 

Thou  art  a  dear  thing  to  my  life, 
And  nought  good  have  I  far  to  seek — 
But  hearken  !  for  the  Mayor  will  speak. 


232  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

THE   MAYOR 

Since  your  grace  bids  me  speak  without  stint  or  sparing 

A  thing  little  splendid  I  pray  you  to  see : 

Early  is  the  day  yet,  for  we  near  the  dawning 

Drew  on  chains  dear-bought,  and  gowns  done  with  gold ; 

So  may  ye  high  ones  hearken  an  hour 

A  tale  that  our  hearts  hold  worthy  and  good, 

Of  Pharamond  the  Freed,  who,  a  king  feared  and  honoured, 

Fled  away  to  find  love  from  his  crown  and  his  folk. 

E'en  as  I  tell  of  it  somewhat  I  tremble 

Lest  we,  fearful  of  treason  to  the  love  that  fulfils  you, 

Should  seem  to  make  little  of  the  love  that  ye  give  us, 

Of  your  lives  full  of  glory,  of  the  deeds  that  your  lifetime 

Shall  gleam  with  for  ever  when  we  are  forgotten. 

Forgive  it  for  the  greatness  of  that  Love  who  compels  us. — 

Hark !  in  the  minster-tower  minish  the  joy-bells, 

And  all  men  are  hushed  now  these  marvels  to  hear. 


THE   EMPEROR  (to  the  MA  YOR) 

'  We  thank  your  love,  that  sees  our  love  indeed 
Toward  you,  toward  Love,  toward  life  of  toil  and  need : 
We  shall  not  falter  though  your  poet  sings 
Of  all  defeat,  strewing  the  crowns  of  kings 
About  the  thorny  ways  where  Love  doth  wend, 
Because  we  know  us  faithful  to  the  end 
Toward  you,  toward  Love,  toward  life  of  war  and  deed, 
And  well  we  deem  your  tale  shall  help  our  need. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  233 

(To  the  EMPRESS) 

So  many  hours  to  pass  before  the  sun 
Shall  blush  ere  sleeping,  and  the  day  be  done ! 
How  thinkest  thou,  my  sweet,  shall  such  a  tale 
For  lengthening  or  for  shortening  them  avail  ? 


THE   EMPRESS 

Nay,  dreamland  has  no  clocks  the  wise  ones  say,       » 
And  while  our  hands  move  at  the  break  of  day 
We  dream  of  years  :  and  I  am  dreaming  still 
And  need  no  change  my  cup  of  joy  to  fill : 
Let  them  say  on,  and  I  shall  hear  thy  voice 
Telling  the  tale,  and  in  its  love  rejoice. 


234  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


THE  MUSIC 

(As  the  singers  enter  and  stand  before  the  curtain,  the 
player-king  and  player-maiden  in  the  midst.) 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH  :  have  no  thought  for  to-morrow 
If  ye  lie  down  this  even  in  rest  from  your  pain, 

Ye  who  have  paid  for  your  bliss  with  great  sorrow: 
For  as  it  was  once  so  it  shall  be  again. 
Ye  shall  cry  out  for  death  as  ye  stretch  forth  in  vain. 


Feeble  hands  to  the  hands  that  would  help  but  they  may  not, 
Cry  out  to  deaf  ears  that  would  hear  if  they  could; 

Till  again  shall  the  change  come,  and  words  your  lips  say  not 
Your  hearts  make  all  plain  in  the  best  wise  they  would 
And  the  world  ye  thought  waning  is  glorious  and  good: 

And  no  morning  now  mocks  you  and  no  nightfall  is  weary, 
The  plains  are  not  empty  of  song  and  of  deed: 

The  sea  strayeth  not,  nor  the  mountains  are  dreary  ; 
The  wind  is  not  helpless  for  any  man's  need, 
Norfalleth  the  rain  but  for  thistle  and  weed. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  235 

O  surely  this  morning  all  sorrow  is  hidden, 
All  battle  is  hushed  for  this  even  at  least  ; 

And  no  one  this  noontide  may  hunger,  unbidden 

To  the  flowers  and  the  singing  and  the  joy  of  your  feast 
Where  silent  ye  sit  midst  the  world's  tale  increased. 


Lo,  the  lovers  unloved  that  draw  nigh  for  your  blessing! 
for  your  tale  makes  the  dreaming  whereby  yet  they  live 

The  dreams  of  the  day  with  their  hopes  of  redressing, 
The  dreams  of  the  night  with  the  kisses  they  give, 
The  dreams  of  the  dawn  wherein  death  and  hope  strive. 

Ah,  what  shall  we  say  then,  but  that  earth  threatened  often 
Shall  live  on  for  ever  that  such  things  may  be, 

That  the  dry  seed  shall  quicken,  the  hard  earth  shall  soften, 
And  the  spring-bearing  birds  flutter  north  der  the  sea, 
That  earth's  garden  may  bloom  round  my  lovers  feet  and  me  ? 


236  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


THE  EMPEROR 

Eyou,  my  sweet,  fair  folk  are  one  and  all 
And  with  good  grace  their  broidered  robes  do  fall, 
And  sweet  they  sing  indeed :  but  he,  the  King, 
Look  but  a  little  how  his  fingers  cling 
To  her's,  his  love  that  shall  be  in  the  play — 
His  love  that  hath  been  surely  ere  to-day : 
And  see,  her  wide  soft  eyes  cast  down  at  whiles 
Are  opened  not  to  note  the  people's  smiles 
But  her  love's  lips,  and  dreamily  they  stare 
As  though  they  sought  the  happy  country,  where 
They  two  shall  be  alone,  and  the  world  dead. 


THE  EMPRESS 

Most  faithful  eyes  indeed  look  from  the  head 

The  sun  has  burnt,  and  wind  and  rain  has  beat, 

Well  may  he  find  her  slim  brown  fingers  sweet. 

And  he — methinks  he  trembles,  lest  he  find 

That  song  of  his  not  wholly  to  her  mind. 

Note  how  his  grey  eyes  look  askance  to  see 

Her  bosom  heaving  with  the  melody 

His  heart  loves  well :  rough  with  the  wind  and  rain 

His  cheek  is,  hollow  with  some  ancient  pain ; 

The  sun  has  burned  and  blanched  his  crispy  hair, 

And  over  him  hath  swept  a  world  of  care 

And  left  him  careless,  rugged,  and  her  own ; 

Still  fresh  desired,  still  strange  and  new,  though  known. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  237 


THE  EMPEROR 


His  eyes  seem  dreaming  of  the  mysteries 
Deep  in  the  depths  of  her  familiar  eyes, 
Tormenting  and  alluring ;  does  he  dream, 
As  I  ofttime  this  morn,  how  they  would  seem 
;  Loved  but  unloving  ? — Nay  the  world's  too  sweet 
That  we  the  ghost  of  such  a  pain  should  meet — 
Behold,  she  goes,  and  he  too,  turning  round, 
Remembers  that  his  love  must  yet  be  found, 
That  he  is  King  and  loveless  in  this  story 
Wrought  long  ago  for  some  dead  poet's  glory. 

[Exeunt  players  behind  the  curtain. 


238  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


Enter  before  the  curtain  LOVE  crowned  as  a  King. 


LOVE 

A,L  hail,  my  servants !  tremble  ye,  my  foes ! 
A  hope  for  these  I  have,  a  fear  for  those 
Hid  in  this  tale  of  Pharamond  the  Freed. 
To-day,  my  Faithful,  nought  shall  be  your  need 
Of  tears  compassionate  : — although  full  oft 
The  crown  of  love  laid  on  my  bosom  soft 
Be  woven  of  bitter  death  and  deathless  fame, 
Bethorned  with  woe,  and  fruited  thick  with  shame. 
— This  for  the  mighty  of  my  courts  I  keep, 
Lest  through  the  world  there  should  be  none  to  weep 
Except  for  sordid  loss ;  and  not  to  gain 
But  satiate  pleasure  making  mock  of  pain. 
— Yea,  in  the  heaven  from  whence  my  dreams  go  forth 
Are  stored  the  signs  that  make  the  world  of  worth : 
There  is  the  wavering  wall  of  mighty  Troy 
About  my  Helen's  hope  and  Paris'  joy  : 
There  lying  neath  the  fresh  dyed  mulberry-tree 
The  sword  and  cloth  of  Pyramus  I  see  : 
There  is  the  number  of  the  joyless  days 
Wherein  Medea  won  no  love  nor  praise  : 
There  is  the  sand  my  Ariadne  pressed ; 
The  footprints  of  the  feet  that  knew  no  rest 
While  o'er  the  sea  forth  went  the  fatal  sign : 
The  asp  of  Egypt,  the  Numidian  wine, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  239 

My  Sigurd's  sword,  my  Brynhild's  fiery  bed, 
The  tale  of  years  of  Gudrun's  drearihead, 
And  Tristram's  glaive,  and  Iseult's  shriek  are  here, 
And  cloister-gown  of  joyless  Guenevere. 

Save  you,  my  Faithful !  how  your  loving  eyes 

Grow  soft  and  gleam  with  all  these  memories  ! 

But  on  this  day  my  crown  is  not  of  death : 

My  fire-tipped  arrows,  and  my  kindling  breath 

Are  all  the  weapons  I  shall  need  to-day. 

Nor  shall  my  tale  in  measured  cadence  play 

About  the  golden  lyre  of  Gods  long  gone, 

Nor  dim  and  doubtful  'twixt  the  ocean's  moan 

Wail  out  about  the  Northern  fiddle-bow, 

Stammering  with  pride  or  quivering  shrill  with  woe. 

Rather  caught  up  at  hazard  is  the  pipe 

That  mixed  with  scent  of  roses  over  ripe, 

And  murmur  of  the  summer  afternoon, 

May  charm  you  somewhat  with  its  wavering  tune 

'Twixt  joy  and  sadness  :  whatsoe'er  it  saith, 

I  know  at  least  there  breathes  through  it  my  breath. 


240  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


OF    PHARAMOND    THE    FREED 

Scene:  In  the  King's  Chamber  of  Audience. 
MASTER  OLIVER  and  many  LORDS  and  COUNCILLORS. 

A   COUNCILLOR 

FAIR  Master  Oliver,  thou  who  at  all  times 
Mayst  open  thy  heart  to  our  lord  and  master, 
Tell  us  what  tidings  thou  hast  to  deliver ; 
For  our  hearts  are  grown  heavy,  and  where  shall  we  turn  to 
If  thus  the  king's  glory,  our  gain  and  salvation, 
Must  go  down  the  wind  amid  gloom  and  despairing  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Little  may  be  looked  for,  fair  lords,  in  my  story, 

To  lighten  your  hearts  of  the  load  lying  on  them. 

For  nine  days  the  king  hath  slept  not  an  hour, 

And  taketh  no  heed  of  soft  words  or  beseeching. 

Yea,  look  you,  my  lords,  if  a  body  late  dead 

In  the  lips  and  the  cheeks  should  gain  some  little  colour, 

And  arise  and  wend  forth  with  no  change  in  the  eyes, 

And  wander  about  as  if  seeking  its  soul — 

Lo,  e'en  so  sad  is  my  lord  and  my  master ; 

Yea,  e'en  so  far  hath  his  soul  drifted  from  us. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  241 

A   COUNCILLOR 

What  say  the  leeches  ?     Is  all  their  skill  left  them  ? 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Nay,  they  bade  lead  him  to  hunt  and  to  tilting, 

To  set  him  on  high  in  the  throne  of  his  honour 

To  judge  heavy  deeds  :  bade  him  handle  the  tiller, 

And  drive  through  the  sea  with  the  wind  at  its  wildest ; 

All  things  he  was  wont  to  hold  kingly  and  good. 

So  we  led  out  his  steed  and  he  straight  leapt  upon  him 

With  no  word,  and  no  looking  to  right  nor  to  left, 

And  into  the  forest  we  fared  as  aforetime : 

Fast  on  the  king  followed,  and  cheered  without  stinting 

The  hounds  to  the  strife  till  the  bear  stood  at  bay ; 

Then  there  he  alone  by  the  beech-trees  alighted ; 

Barehanded,  unarmoured,  he  handled  the  spear-shaft, 

And  blew  up  the  death  on  the  horn  of  his  father ; 

Yet  still  in  his  eyes  was  no  look  of  rejoicing, 

And  no  life  in  his  lips ;  but  I  likened  him  rather 

To  King  Nimrod  carved  fair  on  the  back  of  the  high-seat 

When  the  candles  are  dying,  and  the  high  moon  is  streaming 

Through  window  and  luffer  white  on  the  lone  pavement 

Whence  the  guests  are  departed  in  the  hall  of  the  palace. — 

— Rode  we  home  heavily,  he  with  his  rein  loose, 

Feet  hanging  free  from  the  stirrups,  and  staring 

At  a  clot  of  the  bear's  blood  that  stained  his  green  kirtle ; — 

Unkingly,  unhappy,  he  rode  his  ways  homeward. 

Q 


242  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


A   COUNCILLOR 


Was  this  all  ye  tried,  or  have  ye  more  tidings  ? 
For  the  wall  tottereth  not  at  first  stroke  of  the  ram. 


MASTER    OLIVER 

Nay,  we  brought  him  a-board  the  Great  Dragon  one  dawning, 

When  the  cold  bay  was  flecked  with  the  crests  of  white  billows 

And  the  clouds  lay  alow  on  the  earth  and  the  sea ; 

He  looked  not  aloft  as  they  hoisted  the  sail, 

But  with  hand  on  the  tiller  hallooed  to  the  shipmen 

In  a  voice  grown  so  strange,  that  it  scarce  had  seemed  stranger 

If  from  the  ship  Argo,  in  seemly  wise  woven 

On  the  guard-chamber  hangings,  some  early  grey  dawning 

Great  Jason  had  cried,  and  his  golden  locks  wavered. 

Then  e'en  as  the  oars  ran  outboard,  and  dashed 

In  the  wind- scattered  foam  and  the  sails  bellied  out, 

His  hand  dropped  from  the  tiller,  and  with  feet  all  uncertain 

And  dull  eye  he  wended  him  down  to  the  midship, 

And  gazing  about  for  the  place  of  the  gangway 

Made  for  the  gate  of  the  bulwark  half  open, 

And  stood  there  and  stared  at  the  swallowing  sea, 

Then  turned,  and  uncertain  went  wandering  back  sternward, 

And  sat  down  on  the  deck  by  the  side  of  the  helmsman, 

Wrapt  in  dreams  of  despair ;  so  I  bade  them  turn  shoreward, 

And  slowly  he  rose  as  the  side  grated  stoutly 

'Gainst  the  stones  of  the  quay  and  they  cast  forth  the  hawser. — 

Unkingly,  unhappy,  he  went  his  ways  homeward. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  243 


A   COUNCILLOR 


But  by  other  ways  yet  had  thy  wisdom  to  travel ; 
How  else  did  ye  work  for  the  winning  him  peace  ? 


MASTER   OLIVER 

We  bade  gather  the  knights  for  the  goodliest  tilting, 

There  the  ladies  went  lightly  in  glorious  array ; 

In  the  old  arms  we  armed  him  whose  dints  well  he  knew 

That  the  night  dew  had  dulled  and  the  sea  salt  had  sullied : 

On  the  old  roan  yet  sturdy  we  set  him  astride ; 

So  he  stretched  forth  his  hand  to  lay  hold  of  the  spear 

Neither  laughing  nor  frowning,  as  lightly  his  wont  was 

When  the  knights  are  awaiting  the  voice  of  the  trumpet. 

It  awoke,  and  back  beaten  from  barrier  to  barrier 

Was  caught  up  by  knights'  cries,  by  the  cry  of  the  king. — 

— Such  a  cry  as  red  Mars  in  the  Council-room  window 

May  awake  with  some  noon  when  the  last  horn  is  winded, 

And  the  bones  of  the  world  are  dashed  grinding  together. 

So  it  seemed  to  my  heart,  and  a  horror  came  o'er  me, 

As  the  spears  met,  and  splinters  flew  high  o'er  the  field, 

And  I  saw  the  king  stay  when  his  course  was  at  swiftest, 

His  horse  straining  hard  on  the  bit,  and  he  standing 

Stiff  and  stark  in  his  stirrups,  his  spear  held  by  the  midmost, 

His  helm  cast  a-back,  his  teeth  set  hard  together ; 

E'en  as  one  might,  who,  riding  to  heaven,  feels  round  him 

The  devils  unseen :  then  he  raised  up  the  spear 

As  to  cast  it  away,  but  therewith  failed  his  fury, 


244  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

He  dropped  it,  and  faintly  sank  back  in  the  saddle, 
And,  turning  his  horse  from  the  press  and  the  turmoil, 
Came  sighing  to  me,  and  sore  grieving  I  took  him 
And  led  him  away,  while  the  lists  were  fallen  silent 
As  a  fight  in  a  dream  that  the  light  breaketh  through. — 
To  the  tune  of  the  clinking  of  his  fight-honoured  armour 
Unkingly,  unhappy,  he  went  his  ways  homeward. 


A   COUNCILLOR 

What  thing  worse  than  the  worst  in  the  budget  yet  lieth  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

To  the  high  court  we  brought  him,  and  bade  him  to  hearken 

The  pleading  of  his  people,  and  pass  sentence  on  evil. 

His  face  changed  with  great  pain,  and  his  brow  grew  all  furrowed, 

As  a  grim  tale  was  told  there  of  the  griefs  of  the  lowly ; 

Till  he  took  up  the  word,  mid  the  trembling  of  tyrants, 

As  his  calm  voice  and  cold  wrought  death  on  ill  doers — 

— E'en  so  might  King  Minos  in  marble  there  carven 

Mid  old  dreaming  of  Crete  give  doom  on  the  dead, 

When  the  world  and  its  deeds  are  dead  too  and  buried. — 

But  lo,  as  I  looked,  his  clenched  hands  were  loosened, 

His  lips  grew  all  soft,  and  his  eyes  were  beholding 

Strange  things  we  beheld  not  about  and  above  him. 

So  he  sat  for  a  while,  and  then  swept  his  robe  round  him 

And  arose  and  departed,  not  heeding  his  people, 

The  strange  looks,  the  peering,  the  rustle  and  whisper ; 

But  or  ever  he  gained  the  gate  that  gave  streetward, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  345 

Dull  were  his  eyes  grown,  his  feet  were  grown  heavy, 
His  lips  crooned  complaining,  as  onward  he  stumbled ; — 
Unhappy,  unkingly,  he  went  his  ways  homeward. 


A  COUNCILLOR 

Is  all  striving  over  then,  fair  Master  Oliver  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

All  mine,  lords,  for  ever !  help  who  may  help  henceforth 

I  am  but  helpless  :  too  surely  meseemeth 

He  seeth  me  not,  and  knoweth  no  more 

Me  that  have  loved  him.     Woe  worth  the  while,  Pharamond, 

That  men  should  love  aught,  love  always  as  I  loved ! 

Mother  and  sister  and  the  sweetling  that  scorned  me, 

The  wind  of  the  autumn-tide  over  them  sweepeth, 

All  are  departed,  but  this  one,  the  dear  one — 

I  should  die  or  he  died  and  be  no  more  alone, 

But  God's  hatred  hangs  round  me,  and  the  life  and  the  glory 

That  grew  with  my  waning  life  fade  now  before  it, 

And  leaving  no  pity  depart  through  the  void. 

A   COUNCILLOR 

This  is  a  sight  full  sorry  to  see 

These  tears  of  an  elder !     But  soft  now,  one  cometh. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

The  feet  of  the  king  :  will  ye  speak  or  begone  ? 


246  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

A   NORTHERN   LORD 

I  will  speak  at  the  least,  whoever  keeps  silence, 

For  well  it  may  be  that  the  voice  of  a  stranger 

Shall  break  through  his  dreaming  better  than  thine ; 

And  lo  now  a  word  in  my  mouth  is  a-coming, 

That  the  king  well  may  hearken  :  how  sayst  thou,  fair  master, 

Whose  name  now  I  mind  not,  wilt  thou  have  me  essay  it  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Try  whatso  thou  wilt,  things  may  not  be  worser.  [Enter  KING. 
Behold,  how  he  cometh  weighed  down  by  his  woe ! 

(To  the  KING) 

All  hail,  lord  and  master !  wilt  thou  hearken  a  little 
These  lords  high  in  honour  whose  hearts  are  full  heavy 
Because  thy  heart  sickeneth  and  knoweth  no  joy  ? — 

(To  the  COUNCILLORS) 

Ah,  see  you  !  all  silent,  his  eyes  set  and  dreary, 
His  lips  moving  a  little — how  may  I  behold  it  ? 

THE   NORTHERN    LORD 

May  I  speak,  king  ?  dost  hearken  ?  many  matters  I  have 

To  deal  with  or  death.     I  have  honoured  thee  duly 

Down  in  the  north  there ;  a  great  name  I  have  held  thee ; 

Rough  hand  in  the  field,  ready  righter  of  wrong, 

Reckless  of  danger,  but  recking  of  pity. 

But  now — is  it  false  what  the  chapmen  have  told  us, 

And  are  thy  fair  robes  all  thou  hast  of  a  king  ? 

Is  it  bragging  and  lies,  that  thou  beardless  and  tender 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  247 

Weptst  not  when  they  brought  thy  slain  father  before  thee, 

Trembledst  not  when  the  leaguer  that  lay  round  thy  city 

Made  a  light  for  these  windows,  a  noise  for  thy  pillow  ? 

Is  it  lies  what  men  told  us  of  thy  singing  and  laughter 

As  thou  layst  in  thy  lair  fled  away  from  lost  battle  ? 

Is  i:  lies  how  ye  met  in  the  depths  of  the  mountains, 

And  a  handful  rushed  down  and  made  nought  of  an  army  ? 

These  tales  of  your  luck,  like  the  tide  at  its  turning, 

Trusty  and  sure  howso  slowly  it  cometh, 

Are  they  lies  ?     Is  it  lies  of  wide  lands  in  the  world, 

Ho^  they  sent  thee  great  men  to  lie  low  at  thy  footstool 

In  five  years  thenceforward,  and  thou  still  a  youth  ? 

Are  they  lies,  these  fair  tidings,  or  what  see  thy  lords  here — 

Some  love-sick  girl's  brother  caught  up  by  that  sickness, 

As  one  street  beggar  catches  the  pest  from  his  neighbour  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

What  words  are  these  of  lies  and  love-sickness  ? 
Why  am  I  lonely  among  all  this  brawling  ? 

0  foster-father,  is  all  faith  departed 

That  this  hateful  face  should  be  staring  upon  me  ? 

THE   NORTHERN    LORD 

Lo,  now  thou  awakest ;  so  tell  me  in  what  wise 

1  shall  wend  back  again  :  set  a  word  in  my  mouth 

To  meet  the  folks'  murmur,  and  give  heart  to  the  heavy ; 
For  there  man  speaks  to  man  that  thy  measure  is  full, 
And  thy  five-years-old  kingdom  is  falling  asunder. 

f KING  draws  his  sword. 


248  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Yea,  yea,  a  fair  token  thy  sword  were  to  send  them ; 
Thou  dost  well  to  draw  it ;  (KING  brandishes  his  sword  over  the 
lord's  head,  as  if  to  strike  him} :  soft  sound  is  its  whistle ; 
Strike  then,  O  king,  for  my  wars  are  well  over, 
And  dull  is  the  way  my  feet  tread  to  the  grave  1 

KING  PHARAMOND  (sheathing  his  sword) 

Man,  if  ye  have  waked  me,  I  bid  you  be  wary 
Lest  my  sword  yet  should  reach  you ;  ye  wot  in  your  northlind 
What  hatred  he  winneth  who  waketh  the  shipman 
From  the  sweet  rest  of  death  mid  the  welter  of  waves ; 
'  So  with  us  may  it  fare ;  though  I  know  thee  full  faithful, 
Bold  in  field  and  in  council,  most  fit  for  a  king. 
— Bear  with  me.     I  pray  you  that  to  none  may  be  meted 
Such  a  measure  of  pain  as  my  soul  is  oppressed  with. 
Depart  all  for  a  little,  till  my  spirit  grows  lighter, 
Then  come  ye  with  tidings,  and  hold  we  fair  council, 
That  my  countries  may  know  they  have  yet  got  a  king. 

[Exeunt  all  but  OLIVER  and  KING, 
Come,  my  foster-father,  ere  thy  visage  fade  from  me, 
Come  with  me  mid  the  flowers  some  opening  to  find 
In  the  clouds  that  cling  round  me ;  if  thou  canst  remember 
Thine  old  lovingkindness  when  I  was  a  king. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  249 


THE  MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH  :  it  grew  up  without  heeding 

In  the  days  when  ye  knew  not  its  name  nor  its  measure, 
And  its  leaflets  untrodden  by  the  light  feet  of  pleasure 

Had  no  boast  of  the  blossom,  no  sign  of  the  seeding, 
As  the  morning  and  evening  passed  over  its  treasure. 

And  what  do  ye  say  then  ? — that  Spring  long  departed 
Has  brought  forth  no  child  to  the  softness  and  showers  ; 

— That  we  slept  and  we  dreamed  through  the  Summer  of  flowers  ; 

We  dreamed  of  the  Winter ;  and  waking  dead-hearted 
Found  Winter  upon  us  and  waste  of  dull  hours. 

Nay,  Spring  was  der  happy  and  knew  not  the  reason, 

And  Summer  dreamed  sadly,  for  she  thought  all  was  ended 
In  her  fulness  of  wealth  that  might  not  be  amended ; 

But  this  is  the  harvest  and  the  garnering  season, 

And  the  leaf  and  the  blossom  in  the  ripe  fruit  are  blended. 

It  sprang  without  sowing,  it  grew  without  heeding. 
Ye  knew  not  its  name  and  ye  knew  not  its  measure, 
Ye  noted  it  not  mid  your  hope  and  your  pleasure  ; 

There  was  pain  in  its  blossom,  despair  in  its  seeding, 
But  daylong  your  bosom  now  nurseth  its  treasure. 


250  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Enter  before  the  curtain  LOVE  clad  as  an  image-maker. 

LOVE 

HOW  mighty  and  how  fierce  a  king  is  here 
The  stayer  of  falling  folks,  the  bane  of  fear  ! 
Fair  life  he  liveth,  ruling  passing  well, 
Disdaining  praise  of  Heaven  and  hate  of  Hell ; 
And  yet  how  goodly  to  us  Great  in  Heaven 
Are  such  as  he,  the  waning  world  that  leaven  ! 
How  well  it  were  that  such  should  never  die ! 
How  well  it  were  at  least  that  memory 
Of  such  should  live,  as  live  their  glorious  deeds  ! 
— But  which  of  all  the  Gods  think  ye  it  needs 
To  shape  the  mist  of  Rumour's  wavering  breath 
Into  a  golden  dream  that  fears  no  death  ? 
Red  Mars  belike  ? — since  through  his  field  is  thrust 
The  polished  plough-share  o'er  the  helmets'  rust ! — 
Apollo's  beauty  ? — surely  eld  shall  spare 
Smooth  skin,  and  flashing  eyes,  and  crispy  hair ! — 
Nay,  Jove  himself? — the  pride  that  holds  the  low 
Apart,  despised,  to  mighty  tales  must  grow  ! — 
Or  Pallas  ? — for  the  world  that  knoweth  nought, 
By  that  great  wisdom  to  the  wicket  brought, 
Clear  through  the  tangle  evermore  shall  see ! 
— O  Faithful,  O  Beloved,  turn  to  ME  ! 
I  am  the  Ancient  of  the  Days  that  were 
I  am  the  Newborn  that  To-day  brings  here, 
I  am  the  Life  of  all  that  dieth  not ; 
Through  me  alone  is  sorrow  unforgot. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  251 

My  Faithful,  knowing  that  this  man  should  live, 
I  from  the  cradle  gifts  to  him  did  give 
Unmeet  belike  for  rulers  of  the  earth ; 
As  sorrowful  yearning  in  the  midst  of  mirth, 
Pity  midst  anger,  hope  midst  scorn  and  hate, 
Languor  midst  labour,  lest  the  day  wax  late, 
And  all  be  wrong,  and  all  be  to  begin. 
Through  these  indeed  the  eager  life  did  win 
That  was  the  very  body  to  my  soul ; 
Yet,  as  the  tide  of  battle  back  did  roll 
Before  his  patience :  as  he  toiled  and  grieved 
O'er  fools  and  folly,  was  he  not  deceived, 
But  ever  knew  the  change  was  drawing  nigh, 
And  in  my  mirror  gazed  with  steadfast  eye. 
Still,  O  my  Faithful,  seemed  his  life  so  fair 
That  all  Olympus  might  have  left  him  there 
Until  to  bitter  strength  that  life  was  grown, 
And  then  have  smiled  to  see  him  die  alone, 

Had  I  not  been. Ye  know  me ;  I  have  sent 

A  pain  to  pierce  his  last  coat  of  content : 
Now  must  he  tear  the  armour  from  his  breast 
And  cast  aside  all  things  that  men  deem  best, 
And  single-hearted  for  his  longing  strive 
That  he  at  last  may  save  his  soul  alive. 

How  say  ye  then,  Beloved  ?     Ye  have  known 
The  blossom  of  the  seed  these  hands  have  sown ; 
Shall  this  man  starve  in  sorrow's  thorny  brake  ? 
Shall  Love  the  faithful  of  his  heart  forsake  ? 


252  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


In  the  King's  Garden. 

KlNG  PHARAMOND^    MASTER    OLIVER. 


MASTER   OLIVER 


IN  this  quiet  place  canst  thou  speak,  O  my  King, 
Where  nought  but  the  lilies  may  hearken  our  counsel  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

What  wouldst  thou  have  of  me  ?  why  came  we  hither  ? 


MASTER   OLIVER 

Dear  lord,  thou  wouldst  speak  of  the  woe  that  weighs  on  thee. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Wouldst  thou  bear  me  aback  to  the  strife  and  the  battle  ? 
Nay,  hang  up  my  banner :  'tis  all  passed  and  over ! 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Speak  but  a  little,  lord !  have  1  not  loved  thee? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Yea, — thou  art  Oliver :  I  saw  thee  a-lying 

A  long  time  ago  with  the  blood  on  thy  face, 

When  my  father  wept  o'er  thee  for  thy  faith  and  thy  valour. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  253 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Years  have  passed  over,  but  my  faith  hath  not  failed  me ; 
Spent  is  my  might,  but  my  love  not  departed. 
Shall  not  love  help — yea,  look  long  in  my  eyes ! 
There  is  no  more  to  see  if  thou  sawest  my  heart. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Yea,  thou  art  Oliver,  full  of  all  kindness ! 

Have  patience,  for  now  is  the  cloud  passing  over — 

Have  patience  and  hearken — yet  shalt  thou  be  shamed. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Thou  shalt  shine  through  thy  shame  as  the  sun  through  the  haze 
When  the  world  waiteth  gladly  the  warm  day  a-coming  : 
As  great  as  thou  seem'st  now,  I  know  thee  for  greater 
Than  thy  deeds  done  and  told  of :  one  day  I  shall  know  thee : 
Lying  dead  in  my  tomb  I  shall  hear  the  world  praising. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Stay  thy  praise — let  me  speak,  lest  all  speech  depart  from  me. 

— There  is  a  place  in  the  world,  a  great  valley 

That  seems  a  green  plain  from  the  brow  of  the  mountains, 

But  hath  knolls  and  fair  dales  when  adown  there  thou  goest : 

There  are  homesteads  therein  with  gardens  about  them, 

And  fair  herds  of  kine  and  grey  sheep  a-feeding, 

And  willow-hung  streams  wend  through  deep  grassy  meadows, 

And   a  highway  winds  through  them  from  the  outer  world 

coming : 
Girthed  about  is  the  vale  by  a  grey  wall  of  mountains, 


254  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Rent  apart  in  three  places  and  tumbled  together 

In  old  times  of  the  world  when  the  earth-fires  flowed  forth : 

And  as  you  wend  up  these  away  from  the  valley 

You  think  of  the  sea  and  the  great  world  it  washes ; 

But  through  two  you  may  pass  not,  the  shattered  rocks  shut 

them. 

And  up  through  the  third  there  windeth  a  highway, 
And  its  gorge  is  fulfilled  by  a  black  wood  of  yew-trees. 
And  I  know  that  beyond,  though  mine  eyes  have  not  seen  it, 

A  city  of  merchants  beside  the  sea  lieth. 

I  adjure  thee,  my  fosterer,  by  the  hand  of  my  father, 
By  thy  faith  without  stain,  by  the  days  unforgotten, 
When  I  dwelt  in  thy  house  ere  the  troubles'  beginning, 
By  thy  fair  wife  long  dead  and  thy  sword-smitten  children, 
By  thy  life  without  blame  and  thy  love  without  blemish, 
Tell  me  how,  tell  me  when,  that  fair  land  I  may  come  to ! 
Hide  it  not  for  my  help,  for  my  honour,  but  tell  me, 
Lest  my  time  and  thy  time  be  lost  days  and  confusion  ! 

MASTER   OLIVER 

0  many  such  lands  ! — O  my  master,  what  ails  thee  ? 
Tell  me  again,  for  I  may  not  remember. 

— I  prayed  God  give  thee  speech,  and  lo  God  hath  given  it — 
May  God  give  me  death !  if  I  dream  not  this  evil. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Said  I  not  when  thou  knew'st  it,  all  courage  should  fail  thee  ? 
But  me — my  heart  fails  not,  I  am  Pharamond  as  ever. 

1  shall  seek  and  shall  find — come  help  me,  my  fosterer ! 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  255 

— Yet  if  thou  shouldst  ask  for  a  sign  from  that  country 
What  have  I  to  show  thee — I  plucked  a  blue  milk-wort 
From  amidst  of  the  field  where  she  wandered  fair-footed — 
It  was  gone  when  I  wakened — and  once  in  my  wallet 
I  set  some  grey  stones  from  the  way  through  the  forest — 
These  were  gone  when  I  wakened — and  once  as  I  wandered 
A  lock  of  white  wool  from  a  thorn-bush  I  gathered  ; 
It  was  gone  when  I  wakened — the  name  of  that  country — 
Nay,  how  should  I  know  it  ? — but  ever  meseemeth 
Twas  not  in  the  southlands,  for  sharp  in  the  sunset 
And  sunrise  the  air  is,  and  whiles  I  have  seen  it 
Amid  white  drift  of  snow — ah,  look  up,  foster-father ! 

MASTER   OLIVER 

0  woe,  woe  is  me  that  I  may  not  awaken ! 

Or  else,  art  thou  verily  Pharamond  my  fosterling, 

The  Freed  and  the  Freer,  the  Wise,  the  World's  Wonder  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Why  fainteth  thy  great  heart  ?  nay,  Oliver,  hearken, 
E'en  such  as  I  am  now  these  five  years  I  have  been. 
Through  five  years  of  striving  this  dreamer  and  dotard 
Has  reaped  glory  from  ruin,  drawn  peace  from  destruction. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Woe's  me !  wit  hath  failed  me,  and  all  the  wise  counsel 

1  was  treasuring  up  down  the  wind  is  a-drifting — 
Yet  what  wouldst  thou  have  there  if  ever  thou  find  it  ? 

Are  the  gates  of  heaven  there?  is  Death  bound  there  and  helpless? 


256  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Nay,  thou  askest  me  this  not  as  one  without  knowledge, 
For  thou  know'st  that  my  love  in  that  land  is  abiding. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Yea — woe  worth  the  while — and  all  wisdom  hath  failed  me : 
Yet  if  thou  wouldst  tell  me  of  her,  I  will  hearken 
Without  mocking  or  mourning,  if  that  may  avail  thee. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Lo,  thy  face  is  grown  kind — Thou  rememberest  the  even 
When  I  first  wore  the  crown  after  sore  strife  and  mourning  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Who  shall  ever  forget  it  ?  the  dead  face  of  thy  father, 

And  thou  in  thy  fight- battered  armour  above  it, 

Mid  the  passion  of  tears  long  held  back  by  the  battle ; 

And  thy  rent  banner  o'er  thee  and  the  ring  of  men  mail-clad, 

Victorious  to-day,  since  their  ruin  but  a  spear-length 

Was  thrust  away  from  them. — Son,  think  of  thy  glory 

And  e'en  in  such  wise  break  the  throng  of  these  devils ! 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Five  years  are  passed  over  since  in  the  fresh  dawning 
On  the  field  of  that  fight  I  lay  wearied  and  sleepless 
Till  slumber  came  o'er  me  in  the  first  of  the  sunrise ; 
Then  as  there  lay  my  body  rapt  away  was  my  spirit, 
And  a  cold  and  thick  mist  for  a  while  was  about  me, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  257 

And  when  that  cleared  away,  lo,  the  mountain-walled  country 
'Neath  the  first  of  the  sunrise  in  e'en  such  a  spring-tide 
As  the  spring-tide  our  horse-hoofs  that  yestereve  trampled : 
By  the  withy-wrought  gate  of  a  garden  I  found  me 
'Neath  the  goodly  green  boughs  of  the  apple  full-blossomed ; 
And  fulfilled  of  great  pleasure  I  was  as  I  entered 
The  fair  place  of  flowers,  and  wherefore  I  knew  not. 
Then  lo,  mid  the  birds'  song  a  woman's  voice  singing. 
Five  years  passed  away,  in  the  first  of  the  sunrise. 

[He  is  silent,  brooding. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

God  help  us  if  God  is  ! — for  this  man,  I  deemed  him 
More  a  glory  of  God  made  man  for  our  helping 
Than  a  man  that  should  die  :  all  the  deeds  he  did  surely, 
Too  great  for  a  man's  life,  have  undone  the  doer. 

KING  PHARAMOND  (rousing  himself) 

Thou  art  waiting,  my  fosterer,  till  I  tell  of  her  singing 
And  the  words  that  she  sang  there  :  time  was  when  I  knew  them  ; 
But  too  much  of  strife  is  about  us  this  morning, 
And  whiles  I  forget  and  whiles  I  remember. 

\Falls  a-musing  again. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

But  a  nighfs  dream  undid  him,  and  he  died,  and  his  kingdom 
By  unheard-of  deeds  fashioned,  was  tumbled  together, 
By  false  men  and  fools  to  be  fought  for  and  ruined. 
Such  words  shall  my  ghost  see  the  chronicler  writing 


258  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

In  the  days  that   shall  be: — ah — what   wouldst  thou,   my 

fosterling  ? 

Knowest  thou  not  how  words  fail  us  awaking 
That  we  seemed  to  hear  plain  amid  sleep  and  its  sweetness  ? 
Nay,  strive  not,  my  son,  rest  awhile  and  be  silent ; 
Or  sleep  while  I  watch  thee :  full  fair  is  the  garden, 
Perchance  mid  the  flowers  thy  sweet  dream  may  find  thee, 
And  thou  shalt  have  pleasure  and  peace  for  a  little. — 
(Aside)  And  my  soul  shall  depart  ere  thou  wak'st  peradventure, 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Yea,  thou  deemest  me  mad  :  a  dream  thou  mayst  call  it, 
But  not  such  a  dream  as  thou  know'st  of :  nay,  hearken  ! 
For  what  manner  of  dream  then  is  this  that  remembers 
The  words  that  she  sang  on  that  morning  of  glory ; — 
O  love,  set  a  word  in  my  mouth  for  our  meeting  ; 
Cast  thy  sweet  arms  about  me  to  stay  my  hearfs  beating! 
Ah,  thy  silence,  thy  silence  !  nought  shines  on  the  darkness  ! 
— O  close-serried  throng  of  the  days  that  I  see  not ! 

[Falls  a-musing  again. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Thus  the  worse  that  shall  be,  the  bad  that  is,  bettereth. 
— Once  more  he  is  speechless  mid  evil  dreams  sunken. 

KING  PHARAMOND  (speaking  very  low). 

Hold  silence,  love,  speak  not  of  the  sweet  day  departed; 
Cling  close  to  me,  love,  lest  I  waken  sad-hearted ! 

{Louder  to  OLIVER. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  259 

Thou  starest,  my  fosterer :  what  strange  thing  beholdst  thou  ? 
A  great  king,  a  strong  man,  that  thou  knewest  a  child  once  : 
Pharamond  the  fair  babe  :  Pharamond  the  warrior  : 
Pharamond  the  king,  and  which  hast  thou  feared  yet  ? 
And  why  wilt  thou  fear  then  this  Pharamond  the  lover  ? 
Shall  I  fail  of  my  love  who  failed  not  of  my  fame  ? 
Nay,  nay,  I  shall  live  for  the  last  gain  and  greatest. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

I  know  not — all  counsel  and  wit  is  departed, 
I  wait  for  thy  will ;  I  will  do  it,  my  master. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Through  the  boughs  of  the  garden  I  followed  the  singing 
To  a  smooth  space  of  sward  :  there  the  unknown  desire 
Of  my  soul  I  beheld, — wrought  in  shape  of  a  woman. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

O  ye  warders  of  Troy-walls,  join  hands  through  the  darkness. 
Tell  us  tales  of  the  Downfall,  for  we  too  are  with  you  ! 

KING    PHARAMOND 

As  my  twin  sister,  young  of  years  was  she  and  slender, 
Yellow  blossoms  of  spring-tide  her  hands  had  been  gathering, 
But  the  gown-lap  that  held  them  had  fallen  adown 
And  had  lain  round  her  feet  with  the  first  of  the  singing  ; 
Now  her  singing  had  ceased,  though  yet  heaved  her  bosom 
As  with  lips  lightly  parted  and  eyes  of  one  seeking 


260  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

She  stood  face  to  face  with  the  Love  that  she  knew  not, 
The  love  that  she  longed  for  and  waited  unwitting ; 
She  moved  not,  I  breathed  not — till  lo,  a  horn  winded, 
And  she  started,  and  o'er  her  came  trouble  and  wonder, 
Came  pallor  and  trembling ;  came  a  strain  at  my  heart- 
strings 

As  bodiless  there  I  stretched  hands  toward  her  beauty, 
And  voiceless  cried  out,  as  the  cold  mist  swept  o'er  me. 
Then  again  clash  of  arms,  and  the  morning  watch  calling, 
And  the  long  leaves  and  great   twisted   trunks   of  the 

chesnuts, 

As  I  sprang  to  my  feet  and  turned  round  to  the  trumpets 
And  gathering  of  spears  and  unfolding  of  banners 
That  first  morn  of  my  reign  and  my  glory's  beginning. 


MASTER   OLIVER 

O  well  were  we  that  tide  though  the  world  was  against  us. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Hearken  yet ! — through  that  whirlwind  of  danger  and  battle, 

Beaten  back,  struggling  forward,  we  fought  without  blemish 

On  my  banner  spear-rent  in  the  days  of  my  father, 

On  my  love  of  the  land  and  the  longing  I  cherished 

For  a  tale  to  be  told  when  I,  laid  in  the  minster, 

Might  hear  it  no  more ;  was  it  easy  of  winning, 

Our  bread  of  those  days  ?     Yet  as  wild  as  the  work  was, 

Unforgotten  and  sweet  in  my  heart  was  that  vision, 

And  her  eyes  and  her  lips  and  her  fair  body's  fashion 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  261 

Blest  all  times  of  rest,  rent  the  battle  asunder, 

Turned  ruin  to  laughter  and  death  unto  dreaming ; 

And  again  and  thrice  over  again  did  I  go  there 

Ere  spring  was  grown  winter :  in  the  meadows  I  met  her, 

By  the  sheaves  of  the  corn,  by  the  down-falling  apples, 

Kind  and  calm,  yea  and  glad,  yet  with  eyes  of  one  seeking. 

— Ah  the  mouth  of  one  waiting,  ere  all  shall  be  over ! — 

But  at  last  in  the  winter-tide  mid  the  dark  forest 

Side  by  side  did  we  wend  down  the  pass  :  the  wind  tangled 

Mid  the  trunks  and  black  boughs  made  wild  music  about 

us, 
But  her  feet  on  the  scant   snow  and  the  sound  of  her 

breathing 

Made  music  much  better :  the  wood  thinned,  and  I  saw  her, 
As  we  came  to  the  brow  of  the  pass ;  for  the  moon  gleamed 
Bitter  cold  in  the  cloudless  black  sky  of  the  winter. 
Then  the  world  drew  me  back  from  my  love,  and  departing 
I  saw  her  sweet  serious  look  pass  into  terror 
And  her  arms  cast  abroad — and  lo,  clashing  of  armour, 
And  a  sword  in  my  hand,  and  my  mouth  crying  loud, 
And  the  moon  and  cold  steel  in  the  doorway  burst  open 
And  thy  doughty  spear  thrust  through  the  throat  of  the  foeman 
My  dazed  eyes  scarce  saw — thou  rememberest,  my  fosterer  ? 


MASTER    OLIVER 

Yea,  Theobald  the  Constable  had  watched  but  unduly ; 
We  were  taken  unwares,  and  wild  fleeing  there  was 
O'er  black  rock  and  white  snow — shall  such  times  come  again, 
son? 


262  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Yea,    full    surely    they    shall  ;    have    thou    courage,    my 

fosterer ! — 

Day  came  thronging  on  day,  month  thrust  month  aside, 
Amid  battle  and  strife  and  the  murder  of  glory, 
And  still  oft  and  oft  to  that  land  was  I  led 
And  still  through  all  longing  I  young  in  Love's  dealings, 
Never  called  it  a  pain  :  though,  the  battle  passed  over, 
The  council  determined,  back  again  came  my  craving  : 
I  knew  not  the  pain,  but  I  knew  all  the  pleasure, 
When  now,  as  the  clouds  o'er  my  fortune  were  parting, 
I  felt  myself  waxing  in  might  and  in  wisdom ; 
And  no  city  welcomed  the  Freed  and  the  Freer, 
And  no  mighty  army  fell  back  before  rumour 
Of  Pharamond's  coming,  but  her  heart  bid  me  thither, 
And  the  blithest  and  kindest  of  kingfolk  ye  knew  me. 
Then  came  the  high  tide  of  deliverance  upon  us, 
When  surely  if  we  in  the  red  field  had  fallen 
The  stocks  and  the  stones  would  have  risen  to  avenge  us. 
—Then  waned  my  sweet  vision  midst  glory's  fulfilment, 
And  still  with  its  waning,  hot  waxed  my  desire : 
And  did  ye  not  note  then  that  the  glad-hearted  Pharamond 
Was  grown  a  stern  man,  a  fierce  king,  it  may  be  ? 
Did  ye  deem  it  the  growth  of  my  manhood,  the  hardening 
Of  battle  and  murder  and  treason  about  me  ? 
Nay,  nay,  it  was  love's  pain,  first  named  and  first  noted 
When  a  long  time  went  past,  and  I  might  not  behold  her. 
— Thou  rememberest  a  year  agone  now,  when  the  legate 
Of  the  Lord  of  the  Waters  brought  here  a  broad  letter 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  263 

Full   of  prayers  for  good  peace  and  our  friendship  thence- 
forward— 

— He  who  erst  set  a  price  on  the  lost  head  of  Pharamond — 
How  I  bade  him  stand  up  on  his  feet  and  be  merry, 
Eat  his  meat  by  my  side  and  drink  out  of  my  beaker, 
In  memory  of  days  when  my  meat  was  but  little 
And  my  drink  drunk  in  haste  between  saddle  and  straw. 
But  lo  !  midst  of  my  triumph,  as  I  noted  the  feigning 
Of  the  last  foeman  humbled,  and  the  hall  fell  a  murmuring, 
And  blithely  the  horns  blew,  Be  glad,  spring  prevaileth, 
— As  I  sat  there  and  changed  not,  my  soul  saw  a  vision  : 
All  folk  faded  away,  and  my  love  that  I  long  for 
Came  with  raiment  a-rustling  along  the  hall  pavement, 
Drawing  near  to  the  high-seat,  with  hands  held  out  a  little, 
Till  her  hallowed  eyes  drew  me  a  space  into  heaven, 
And  her  lips  moved  to  whisper,  '  Come,  love,  for  I  weary ! ' 
Then  she  turned  and  went  from  me,  and  I  heard  her  feet 

falling 

On  the  floor  of  the  hall,  e'en  as  though  it  were  empty 
Of  all  folk  but  us  twain  in  the  hush  of  the  dawning. 
Then  again,  all  was  gone,  and  I  sat  there  a  smiling 
On  the  faint-smiling  legate,  as  the  hall  windows  quivered 
With  the  rain  of  the  early  night  sweeping  across  them. 
Nought  slept  I  that  night,  yet  I  saw  her  without  sleeping  : — 
Betwixt  midnight  and  morn  of  that  summer-tide  was  I 
Amidst  of  the  lilies  by  her  house-door  to  hearken 
If  perchance  in  her  chamber  she  turned  amid  sleeping : 
When  lo,  as  the  East  'gan  to  change,  and  stars  faded 
Were  her  feet  on  the  stairs,  and  the  door  opened  softly, 
And  she  stood  on  the  threshold  with  the  eyes  of  one  seeking, 


264  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

And  there,  gathering  the  folds  of  her  gown  to  her  girdle, 

Went  forth  through  the  garden  and  followed  the  highway, 

All  along  the  green  valley,  and  I  ever  beside  her. 

Till  the  light  of  the  low  sun  just  risen  was  falling 

On  her  feet  in  the  first  of  the  pass — and  all  faded. 

Yet  from  her  unto  me  had  gone  forth  her  intent, 

And  I  saw  her  face  set  to  the  heart  of  that  city, 

And  the  quays  where  the  ships  of  the  outlanders  come  to, 

And  I  said  :  She  is  seeking,  and  shall  I  not  seek  ? 

The  sea  is  her  prison  wall ;  where  is  my  prison  ? 

—Yet  I  said  :  Here  men  praise  me,  perchance  men  may  love 

me 

If  I  live  long  enough  for  my  justice  and  mercy 
To  make  them  just  and  merciful — one  who  is  master 
Of  many  poor  folk,  a  man  pity  moveth 
Love  hath  dealt  with  in  this  wise,  no  minstrel  nor  dreamer. 
The  deeds  that  my  hand  might  find  for  the  doing 
Did  desire  undo  them  these  four  years  of  fight  ? 
And  now  time  and  fair  peace  in  my  heart  have  begotten 
More  desire  and  more  pain,  is  the  day  of  deeds  done  with  ? 
Lo  here  for  my  part  my  bonds  and  my  prison ! — 
— Then  with  hands  holding  praise,  yet  with  fierce  heart  belike 
Did  I  turn  to  the  people  that  I  had  delivered — 
— And  the  deeds  of  this  year  passed  shall  live  peradventure ! 
But  now  came  no  solace  of  dreams  in  the  night-tide 
From  that  day  thenceforward ;  yet  oft  in  the  council, 
Mid  the  hearkening  folk  craving  for  justice  or  mercy, 
Mid  the  righting  of  wrongs  and  the  staying  of  ruin, 
Mid  the  ruling  a  dull  folk,  who  deemed  all  my  kingship 
A  thing  due  and  easy  as  the  dawning  and  sunset 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  265 

To  the  day  that  God  made  once  to  deal  with  no  further — 
— Mid  all  these  a  fair  face,  a  sad  face,  could  I  fashion, 
And  I  said,  She  is  seeking,  and  shall  I  not  seek  ? 
—Tell  over  the  days  of  the  year  of  hope's  waning ; 
Tell  over  the  hours  of  the  weary  days  wearing : 
Tell  over  the  minutes  of  the  hours  of  thy  waking, 
Then  wonder  he  liveth  who  fails  of  his  longing ! 

MASTER    OLIVER 

What  wouldst  thou  have,  son,  wherein  I  might  help  thee  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Hearken  yet : — for  a  long  time  no  more  I  beheld  her 

Till  a  month  agone  now  at  the  ending  of  Maytide ; 

And  then  in  the  first  of  the  morning  I  found  me 

Fulfilled  of  all  joy  at  the  edge  of  the  yew-wood ; 

Then  lo,  her  gown's  flutter  in  the  fresh  breeze  of  morning, 

And  slower  and  statelier  than  her  wont  was  aforetime 

And  fairer  of  form  toward  the  yew- wood  she  wended. 

But  woe's  me !  as  she  came  and  at  last  was  beside  me 

With  sobbing  scarce  ended  her  bosom  was  heaving, 

Stained  with  tears  was  her  face,  and  her  mouth  was  yet  quivering 

With  torment  of  weeping  held  back  for  a  season. 

Then  swiftly  my  spirit  to  the  King's  bed  was  wafted 

While  still  toward  the  sea  were  her  weary  feet  wending. 

— Ah  surely  that  day  of  all  wrongs  that  I  hearkened 

Mine  own  wrongs  seemed  heaviest  and  hardest  to  bear — 

Mine  own  wrongs  and  hers — till  that  past  year  of  ruling 

Seemed  a  crime  and  a  folly.     Night  came,  and  I  saw  her 


266  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Stealing  barefoot,  bareheaded  amidst  of  the  tulips 
Made  grey  by  the  moonlight :  and  a  long  time  Love  gave  me 
To  gaze  on  her  weeping — morn  came,  and  I  wakened — 
I  wakened  and  said  :  Through  the  World  will  I  wander, 
Till  either  I  find  her,  or  find  the  World  empty. 


MASTER   OLIVER 

Yea,  son,  wilt  thou  go  ?     Ah  thou  knowest  from  of  old  time 
My  words  might  not  stay  thee  from  aught  thou  wert  willing ; 
And  e'en  so  it  must  be  now.     And  yet  hast  thou  asked  me 
To  go  with  thee,  son,  if  aught  I  might  help  thee  ? — 
— Ah  me,  if  thy  face  might  gladden  a  little 
I  should  meet  the  world  better  and  mock  at  its  mocking : 
If  thou  goest  to  find  her,  why  then  hath  there  fallen 
This  heaviness  on  thee  ?  is  thy  heart  waxen  feeble  ? 


KING    PHARAMOND 

O  friend,  I  have  seen  her  no  more,  and  her  mourning 
Is  alone  and  unhelped — yet  to-night  or  to-morrow 
Somewhat  nigher  will  I  be  to  her  love  and  her  longing. 
Lo,  to  thee,  friend,  alone  of  all  folk  on  the  earth 
These  things  have  I  told :  for  a  true  man  I  deem  thee 
Beyond  all  men  call  true ;  yea,  a  wise  man  moreover 
And  hardy  and  helpful ;  and  I  know  thy  heart  surely 
That   thou   boldest   the   world   nought   without   me   thy 

fosterling. 

Come,  leave  all  awhile !  it  may  be  as  time  weareth 
With  new  life  in  our  hands  we  shall  wend  us  back  hither. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  267 


MASTER    OLIVER 

Yea ;  triumph  turns  trouble,  and  all  the  world  changeth, 
Yet  a  good  world  it  is  since  we  twain  are  together. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Lo,  have  I  not  said  it  ? — thou  art  kinder  than  all  men. 
Cast  about  then,  I  pray  thee,  to  find  us  a  keel 
Sailing  who  recketh  whither,  since  the  world  is  so  wide. 
Sure  the  northlands  shall  know  of  the  blessings  she  bringeth, 
And  the  southlands  be  singing  of  the  tales  that  foretold  her. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Well  I  wot  of  all  chapmen — and  to-night  weighs  a  dromond 
Sailing  west  away  first,  and  then  to  the  southlands. 
Since  in  such  things  I  deal  oft  they  know  me,  but  know  not 
King  Pharamond  the  Freed,  since  now  first  they  sail  hither. 
So  make  me  thy  messenger  in  a  fair-writ  broad  letter 
And  thyself  make  my  scrivener,  and  this  very  night  sail  we. — 
O  surely  thy  face  now  is  brightening  and  blesseth  me ! 
Peer  through  these  boughs  toward  the  bay  and  the  haven, 
And  high  masts  thou  shalt  see,  and  white  sails  hanging  ready. 

\Exit  OLIVER. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Dost  thou  weep  now,  my  darling,  and  are  thy  feet  wandering 
On  the  ways  ever  empty  of  what  thou  desirest  ? 
Nay,  nay,  for  thou  know'st  me,  and  many  a  night-tide 
Hath  Love  led  thee  forth  to  a  city  unknown  : 


268  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Thou  hast  paced  through  this  palace  from  chamber  to  chamber 
Till  in  dawn  and  stars'  paling  I  have  passed  forth  before  thee : 
Thou  hast  seen  thine  own  dwelling  nor  known  how  to  name  it : 
Thine  own  dwelling  that  shall  be  when  love  is  victorious. 
Thou  hast  seen  my  sword  glimmer  amidst  of  the  moonlight, 
As  we  rode  with  hoofs  muffled  through  waylaying  murder. 
Through  the  field  of  the  dead  hast  thou  fared  to  behold  me, 
Seen  me  waking  and  longing  by  the  watch-fires'  flicker ; 
Thou  hast  followed  my  banner  amidst  of  the  battle 
And  seen  my  face  change  to  the  man  that  they  fear, 
Yet  found  me  not  fearful  nor  turned  from  beholding : 
Thou  hast  been  at  my  triumphs,  and  heard  the  tale's  ending 
Of  my  wars,  and  my  winning  through  days  evil  and  weary  : 
For  this  eve  hast  thou  waited,  and  wilt  be  peradventure 
By  the  sea-strand  to-night,  for  thou  wottest  full  surely 
That  the  word  is  gone  forth,  and  the  world  is  a-moving. 
— Abide  me,  beloved  !  to-day  and  to-morrow 
Shall  be  little  words  in  the  tale  of  our  loving, 
When  the  last  morn  ariseth,  and  thou  and  I  meeting 
From  lips  laid  together  tell  tales  of  these  marvels. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  269 


THE  MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH  :  draw  near  and  behold  me 

Ye  who  pass  by  the  way  to  your  rest  and  your  laughter, 
And  are  full  of  the  hope  of  the  dawn  coming  after  ; 

For  the  strong  of  the  world  have  bought  me  and  sold  me 
And  my  house  is  all  wasted  from  threshold  to  rafter. 
— Pass  by  me,  and  hearken,  and  think  of  me  not ! 

Cry  out  and  come  near ;  for  my  ears  may  not  hearken, 
And  my  eyes  are  grown  dim  as  the  eyes  of  the  dying. 
Is  this  the  grey  rack  o'er  the  sun's  face  a-flying  ? 

Or  is  it  your  faces  his  brightness  that  darken  ? 
Comes  a  wind  from  the  sea,  or  is  it  your  sighing? 
— Pass  by  me,  and  hearken,  and  pity  me  not ! 

Ye  know  not  how  void  is  your  hope  and  your  living: 
Depart  with  your  helping  lest  yet  ye  undo  me! 
Ye  know  not  that  at  nightfall  she  draweth  near  to  me, 

There  is  soft  speech  between  us  and  words  of  forgiving 
Till  in  dead  of  the  midnight  her  kisses  thrill  through  me. 
— Pass  by  me,  and  hearken,  and  waken  me  not  / 

Wherewith  will  ye  buy  it,  ye  rich  who  behold  mt  ? 
Draw  out  from  your  coffers  your  rest  and  your  laughter, 
And  the  fair  gilded  hope  of  the  dawn  coming  after  ! 

Nay  this  I  sell  not, — though  ye  bought  me  and  sold  me, — 

For  your  house  stored  with  such  things  from  threshold  to  rafter. 
— Pass  by  me,  I  hearken,  and  think  of  you  not  I 


270  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Enter  before  the  curtain  LOVE  dad  as  a  maker  of 
Pictured  Cloths. 

LOVE 

THAT  double  life  my  faithful  king  has  led 
My  hand  has  untwined,  and  old  days  are  dead 
As  in  the  moon  the  sails  run  up  the  mast. 
Yea,  let  this  present  mingle  with  the  past, 
And  when  ye  see  him  next  think  a  long  tide 
Of  days  are  gone  by ;  for  the  world  is  wide, 
And  if  at  last  these  hands,  these  lips  shall  meet, 
What  matter  thorny  ways  and  weary  feet  ? 

A  faithful  king,  and  now  grown  wise  in  love  : 

Yet  from  of  old  in  many  ways  I  move 

The  hearts  that  shall  be  mine :  him  by  the  hand 

Have  I  led  forth,  and  shown  his  eyes  the  land 

Where  dwells  his  love,  and  shown  him  what  she  is : 

He  has  beheld  the  lips  that  he  shall  kiss, 

The  eyes  his  eyes  shall  soften,  and  the  cheek 

His  voice  shall  change,  the  limbs  he  maketh  weak : 

— All  this  he  hath  as  in  a  picture  wrought — 

But  lo  you,  'tis  the  seeker  and  the  sought : 

For  her  no  marvels  of  the  night  I  make, 

Nor  keep  my  dream-smiths'  drowsy  heads  awake ; 

Only  about  her  have  I  shed  a  glory 

Whereby  she  waiteth  trembling  for  a  story 

That  she  shall  play  in, — and  'tis  not  begun  : 

Therefore  from  rising  sun  to  setting  sun 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  271 

There  flit  before  her  half-formed  images 

Of  what  I  am,  and  in  all  things  she  sees 

Something  of  mine :  so  single  is  her  heart 

Filled  with  the  worship  of  one  set  apart 

To  be  my  priestess  through  all  joy  and  sorrow ; 

So  sad  and  sweet  she  waits  the  certain  morrow. 

— And  yet  sometimes,  although  her  heart  be  strong, 

You  may  well  think  I  tarry  over-long : 

The  lonely  sweetness  of  desire  grows  pain, 

The  reverent  life  of  longing  void  and  vain  : 

Then  are  my  dream-smiths  mindful  of  my  lore : 

They  weave  a  web  of  sighs  and  weeping  sore, 

Of  languor,  and  of  very  helplessness, 

Of  restless  wandering,  lonely  dumb  distress, 

Till  like  a  live  thing  there  she  stands  and  goes, 

Gazing  at  Pharamond  through  all  her  woes. 

Then  forth  they  fly,  and  spread  the  picture  out 

Before  his  eyes,  and  how  then  may  he  doubt 

She  knows  his  life,  his  deeds,  and  his  desire  ? 

How  shall  he  tremble  lest  her  heart  should  tire  ? 

— It  is  not  so  ;  his  danger  and  his  war, 

His  days  of  triumph,  and  his  years  of  care, 

She  knows  them  not — yet  shall  she  know  some  day 

The  love  that  in  his  lonely  longing  lay. 


What,  Faithful — do  I  lie,  that  overshot 

My  dream- web  is  with  that  which  happeneth  not  ? 

Nay,  nay,  believe  it  not ! — love  lies  alone 

In  loving  hearts  like  fire  within  the  stone : 


272  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Then  strikes  my  hand,  and  lo,  the  flax  ablaze ! 
— Those  tales  of  empty  striving,  and  lost  days 
Folk  tell  of  sometimes — never  lit  my  fire 
Such  ruin  as  this ;  but  Pride  and  Vain-desire, 
My  counterfeits  and  foes,  have  done  the  deed. 
Beware,  beloved  !  for  they  sow  the  weed 
Where  I  the  wheat :  they  meddle  where  I  leave, 
Take  what  I  scorn,  cast  by  what  I  receive, 
Sunder  my  yoke,  yoke  that  I  would  dissever, 
Pull  down  the  house  my  hands  would  build  for  ever. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  273 

Scene :  In  a  Forest  among  the  Hills  of  a  Foreign  Land. 
KING  PHARAMOND,  MASTER  OLIVER. 

KING  PHARAMOND 

STRETCH  forth  thine  hand,  foster-father,  I  know  thee, 
And  fain  would  be  sure  I  am  yet  in  the  world  : 
Where  am  I  now,  and  what  things  have  befallen  ? 
Why  am  I  so  weary,  and  yet  have  wrought  nothing  ? 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Thou  hast  been  sick,  lord,  but  thy  sickness  abateth. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Thou  art  sad  unto  weeping :  sorry  rags  are  thy  raiment, 
For  I  see  thee  a  little  now :  where  am  I  lying  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

On  the  sere  leaves  thou  liest,  lord,  deep  in  the  wild  wood 

KING   PHARAMOND 

What  meaneth  all  this  ?  was  I  not  Pharamond, 
A  worker  of  great  deeds  after  my  father, 
Freer  of  my  land  from  murder  and  wrong, 
Fain  of  folks'  love,  and  no  blencher  in  battle? 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Yea,  thou  wert  king  and  the  kindest  under  heaven. 


274  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Was  there  not  coming  a  Queen  long  desired, 
From  a  land  over  sea,  my  life  to  fulfil  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Belike  it  was  so — but  thou  leftst  it  untold  of. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Why  weepest  thou  more  yet  ?     O  me,  which  are  dreams, 
Which  are  deeds  of  my  life  mid  the  things  I  remember  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Dost  thou  remember  the  great  council  chamber, 
O  my  king,  and  the  lords  there  gathered  together 
With  drawn  anxious  faces  one  fair  morning  of  summer, 
And  myself  in  their  midst,  who  would  move  thee  to  speech  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

A  brawl  I  remember,  some  wordy  debating, 
Whether  my  love  should  be  brought  to  behold  me. 
Sick  was  I  at  heart,  little  patience  I  had. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Hast  thou  memory  yet  left  thee,  how  an  hour  thereafter 

We  twain  lay  together  in  the  midst  of  the  pleasance 

'Neath  the  lime-trees,  nigh  the  pear-tree,  beholding  the  conduit  ? 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  275 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Fair  things  I  remember  of  a  long  time  thereafter — 
Of  thy  love  and  thy  faith  and  our  gladness  together 

MASTER   OLIVER 

And  the  thing  that  we  talked  of,  wilt  thou  tell  me  about  it  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

We  twain  were  to  wend  through  the  wide  world  together 
Seeking  my  love — O  my  heart !  is  she  living  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

God  wot  that  she  liveth  as  she  hath  lived  ever. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Then  soon  was  it  midnight,  and  moonset,  as  we  wended 

Down  to  the  ship,  and  the  merchant-folks'  babble. 

The  oily  green  waves  in  the  harbour  mouth  glistened, 

Windless  midnight  it  was,  but  the  great  sweeps  were  run  out, 

As  the  cable  came  rattling  mid  rich  bales  on  the  deck, 

And  slow  moved  the  black  side  that  the  ripple  was  lapping. 

And  I  looked  and  beheld  a  great  city  behind  us 

By  the  last  of  the  moon  as  the  stars  were  a-brightening, 

And  Pharamond  the  Freed  grew  a  tale  of  a  singer, 

With  the  land  of  his  fathers  and  the  fame  he  had  toiled  for. 

Yet  sweet  was  the  scent  of  the  sea-breeze  arising  ; 

And  I  felt  a  chain  broken,  a  sickness  put  from  me 

As  the  sails  drew,  and  merchant-folk,  gathered  together 


276  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

On  the  poop  or  the  prow,  'gan  to  move  and  begone, 
Till  at  last  'neath  the  far-gazing  eyes  of  the  steersman 
By  the  loitering  watch  thou  and  I  were  left  lonely, 
And  we  saw  by  the  moon  the  white  horses  arising 
Where  beyond  the  last  headland  the  ocean  abode  us, 
Then  came  the  fresh  breeze  and  the  sweep  of  the  spray, 
And  the  beating  of  ropes,  and  the  empty  sails'  thunder, 
As  we  shifted  our  course  toward  the  west  in  the  dawning ; 
Then  I  slept  and  I  dreamed  in  the  dark  I  was  lying, 
And  I  heard  her-  sweet  breath  and  her  feet  falling  near  me, 
And  the  rustle  of  her   raiment  as   she  sought  through  the 

darkness, 

Sought,  I  knew  not  for  what,  till  her  arms  clung  about  me 
With  a  cry  that  was  hers,  that  was  mine  as  I  wakened. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Yea,  a  sweet  dream  it  was,  as  thy  dreams  were  aforetime. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Nay  not  so,  my  fosterer :  thy  hope  yet  shall  fail  thee 
If  thou  lookest  to  see  me  turned  back  from  my  folly, 
Lamenting  and  mocking  the  life  of  my  longing. 
Many  such  have  I  had,  dear  dreams  and  deceitful, 
When  the  soul  slept  a  little  from  all  but  its  search, 
And  lied  to  the  body  of  bliss  beyond  telling ; 
Yea,  waking  had  lied  still  but  for  life  and  its  torment. 
Not  so  were  those  dreams  of  the  days  of  my  kingship, 
Slept  my  body — or  died — but  my  soul  was  not  sleeping, 
It  knew  that  she  touched  not  this  body  that  trembled 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  277 

At  the  thought  of  her  body  sore  trembling  to  see  me ; 
It  lied  of  no  bliss  as  desire  swept  it  onward, 
Who  knows  through  what  sundering  space  of  its  prison  ; 
It  saw,  and  it  heard,  and  it  hoped,  and  was  lonely, 
Had  no  doubt  and  no  joy,  but  the  hope  that  endureth. 
— Woe's  me  I  am  weary  :  wend  we  forward  to-morrow  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Yea,  well  it  may  be  if  thou  wilt  but  be  patient, 
And  rest  thee  a  little,  while  time  creepeth  onward. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

But  tell  me,  has  the  fourth  year  gone  far  mid  my  sickness  ? 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Nay,  for  seven  days  only  didst  thou  lie  here  a  dying, 

As  full  often  I  deemed  :  God  be  thanked  it  is  over  ! 

But  rest  thee  a  little,  lord ;  gather  strength  for  the  striving. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Yea,  for  once  again  sleep  meseems  cometh  to  struggle 
With  the  memory  of  times  past :  come  tell  thou,  my  fosterer, 
Of  the  days  we  have  fared  through,  that  dimly  before  me 
Are  floating,  as  I  look  on  thy  face  and  its  trouble. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Rememberest  thou  aught  of  the  lands  where  we  wended  ? 


278  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


KING   PHARAMOND 

Yea,  many  a  thing — as  the  moonlit  warm  evening 
When  we  stayed  by  the  trees  in  the  Gold-bearing  Land, 
Nigh  the  gate  of  the  city,  where  a  minstrel  was  singing 
That  tale  of  the  King  and  his  fate,  o'er  the  cradle 
Foretold  by  the  wise  of  the  world ;  that  a  woman 
Should  win  him  to  love  and  to  woe,  and  despairing 
In  the  last  of  his  youth,  the  first  days  of  his  manhood. 


MASTER   OLIVER 

I  remember  the  evening ;  but  clean  gone  is  the  story : 
Amid  deeds  great  and  dreadful,  should  songs  abide  by  me  ? 


KING    PHARAMOND 

They  shut  the  young  king  in  a  castle,  the  tale  saith, 
Where  never  came  woman,  and  never  should  come, 
And  sadly  he  grew  up  and  stored  with  all  wisdom, 
Not  wishing  for  aught  in  his  heart  that  he  had  not, 
Till  the  time  was  come  round  to  his  twentieth  birthday. 
Then  many  fair  gifts  brought  his  people  unto  him, 
Gold  and  gems,  and  rich  cloths,  and  rare  things  and  dear-bought, 
And  a  book  fairly  written  brought  a  wise  man  among  them, 
Called  the  Praising  of  Prudence ;  wherein  there  was  painted 
The  image  of  Prudence  : — and  that,  what  but  a  woman, 
E'en  she  forsooth  that  the  painter  found  fairest ; — 
Now  surely  thou  mindest  what  needs  must  come  after  ? 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  279 


MASTER    OLIVER 

Yea,  somewhat  indeed  I  remember  the  misery 

Told  in  that  tale,  but  all  mingled  it  is 

With  the  manifold  trouble  that  met  us  full  often, 

E'en  we  ourselves.     Of  nought  else  hast  thou  memory  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Of  many  such  tales  that  the  Southland  folk  told  us, 
Of  many  a  dream  by  the  sunlight  and  moonlight ; 
Of  music  that  moved  me,  of  hopes  that  my  heart  had ; 
The  high  days  when  my  love  and  I  held  feast  together. 
— But  what  land  is  this,  and  how  came  we  hither  ? 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Nay,  hast  thou  no  memory  of  our  troubles  that  were  many  ? 
How  thou  criedst  out  for  Death  and  how  near  Death  came  to 

thee? 

How  thou  needs  must  dread  war,  thou  the  dreadful  in  battle  ? 
Of  the  pest  in  the  place  where  that  tale  was  told  to  us  ; 
And  how  we  fled  thence  o'er  the  desert  of  horror  ? 
How  weary  we  wandered  when  we  came  to  the  mountains, 
All  dead  but  one  man  of  those  who  went  with  us  ? 
How  we  came  to  the  sea  of  the  west,  and  the  city, 
Whose  Queen  would  have  kept  thee  her  slave  and  her  lover, 
And  how  we  escaped  by  the  fair  woman's  kindness, 
Who  loved  thee,  and  cast  her  life  by  for  thy  welfare  ? 
Of  the  waste  of  thy  life  when  we  sailed  from  the  Southlands, 
And  the  sea-thieves  fell  on  us  and  sold  us  for  servants 


28o  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

To  that  land  of  hard  gems,  where  thy  life's  purchase  seemed 

Little  better  than  mine,  and  we  found  to  our  sorrow 

Whence  came  the  crown's  glitter,  thy  sign  once  of  glory  : 

Then  naked  a  king  toiled  in  sharp  rocky  crannies, 

And  thy  world's  fear  was  grown  but  the  task-master's  whip, 

And  thy  world's  hope  the  dream  in  the  short  dead  of  night  ? 

And  hast  thou  forgotten  how  again  we  fled  from  it, 

And  that  fight  of  despair  in  the  boat  on  the  river, 

And  the  sea-strand  again  and  white  bellying  sails ; 

And  the  sore  drought  and  famine  that  on  ship-board  fell  on  us, 

Ere  the  sea  was  o'erpast,  and  we  came  scarcely  living 

To  those  keepers  of  sheep,  the  poor  folk  and  the  kind  ? 

Dost  thou  mind  not  the  merchants  who  brought  us  thence 

northward, 

And  this  land  that  we  made  in  the  twilight  of  dawning  ? 
And  the  city  herein  where  all  kindness  forsook  us, 
And  our  bitter  bread  sought  we  from  house-door  to  house-door. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

As  the  shadow  of  clouds  o'er  the  summer  sea  sailing 

Is  the  memory  of  all  now,  and  whiles  I  remember 

And  whiles  I  forget ;  and  nought  it  availeth 

Remembering,  forgetting ;  for  a  sleep  is  upon  me 

That  shall  last  a  long  while  : — there  thou  liest,  my  fosterer, 

As  thou  lay'st  a  while  since  ere  that  twilight  of  dawning ; 

And  I  woke  and  looked  forth,  and  the  dark  sea,  long  changeless, 

Was  now  at  last  barred  by  a  dim  wall  that  swallowed 

The  red  shapeless  moon,  and  the  whole  sea  was  rolling, 

Unresting,  unvaried,  as  grey  as  the  void  is, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  281 

Toward  that  wall  'gainst  the  heavens  as  though  rest   were 

behind  it. 

Still  onward  we  fared  and  the  moon  was  forgotten, 
And  colder  the  sea  grew  and  colder  the  heavens, 
And  blacker  the  wall  grew,  and  grey,  green-besprinkled, 
And  the  sky  seemed  to  breach  it ;  and  lo  at  the  last 
Many  islands  of  mountains,  and  a  city  amongst  them. 
White  clouds  of  the  dawn,  not  moving  yet  waning, 
Wreathed  the  high  peaks  about ;  and  the  sea  beat  for  ever 
'Gainst  the  green  sloping  hills  and  the  black  rocks  and  beach- 
less. 

— Is  this  the  same  land  that  I  saw  in  that  dawning  ? 
For  sure  if  it  is  thou  at  least  shalt  hear  tidings, 
Though  I  die  ere  the  dark  :  but  for  thee,  O  my  fosterer, 
Lying  there  by  my  side,  I  had  deemed  the  old  vision 
Had  drawn  forth  the  soul  from  my  body  to  see  her. 
And  with  joy  and  fear  blended  leapt  the  heart  in  my  bosom, 
And  I  cried,  "The  last  land,  love;  O  hast  thou  abided?" 
But  since  then  hath  been  turmoil,  and  sickness,  and  slumber, 
And  my  soul  hath  been  troubled  with  dreams  that  I  knew  not. 
And  such  tangle  is  round  me  life  fails  me  to  rend  it, 
And  the  cold  cloud  of  death  rolleth  onward  to  hide  me. — 
— O  well  am  I  hidden,  who  might  not  be  happy ! 
I  see  not,  I  hear  not,  my  head  groweth  heavy. 

[Falls  back  as  if  sleeping. 


MASTER    OLIVER 

— O  Son,  is  it  sleep  that  upon  thee  is  fallen  ? 

Not  death,  O  my  dear  one ! — speak  yet  but  a  little  ! 


282  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

KING  PHARAMOND  (raising  himself  again) 

O  be  glad,  foster-father !  and  those  troubles  past  over, — 

Be  thou  thereby  when  once  more  I  remember 

And  sit  with  my  maiden  and  tell  her  the  story, 

And  we  pity  our  past  selves  as  a  poet  may  pity 

The  poor  folk  he  tells  of  amid  plentiful  weeping. 

Hush  now  !  as  faint  noise  of  bells  over  water 

A  sweet  sound  floats  towards  me,  and  blesses  my  slumber : 

If  I  wake  never  more  I  shall  dream  and  shall  see  her.    [Sleeps. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Is  it  swooning  or  sleeping  ?  in  what  wise  shall  he  waken  ? 
— Nay,  no  sound  I  hear  save  the  forest  wind  wailing. 
Who  shall  help  us  to-day  save  our  yoke-fellow  Death  ? 
Yet  fain  would  I  die  mid  the  sun  and  the  flowers ; 
For  a  tomb  seems  this  yew-wood  ere  yet  we  are  dead, 
And  its  wailing  wind  chilleth  my  yearning  for  time  past, 
And  my  love  groweth  cold  in  this  dusk  of  the  daytime. 
What  will  be  ?  is  worse  than  death  drawing  anear  us  ? 
Flit  past,  dreary  day  !  come,  night-tide  and  resting ! 
Come,  to-morrow's  uprising  with  light  and  new  tidings ! 
— Lo,  Lord,  I  have  borne  all  with  no  bright  love  before  me ; 
Wilt  thou  break  all  I  had  and  then  give  me  no  blessing  ? 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  283 


THE   MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH :  through  the  trouble  and  tangle 
From  yesterday's  dawning  to  yesterdays  night 

/  sought  through  the  vales  where  the  prisoned  winds  wrangle, 
Till)  wearied  and  bleeding,  at  end  of  the  light 
1  met  him,  and  we  wrestled,  and  great  was  my  might. 

O  great  was  my  joy,  though  no  rest  was  around  me, 

Though  mid  wastes  of  the  world  were  we  twain  all  alone, 

For  methought  that  I  conquered  and  he  knelt  and  he  crowned  me, 
And  the  driving  rain  ceased,  and  the  wind  ceased  to  moan, 
And  through  clefts  of  the  clouds  her  planet  outshone. 

O  through  clefts  of  the  clouds  ^an  the  world  to  awaken, 
And  the  bitter  wind  piped,  and  down  drifted  the  rain, 

And  I  was  alone — and  yet  not  forsaken, 

For  the  grass  was  untrodden  except  by  my  pain  : 
With  a  Shadow  of  the  Night  had  I  wrestled  in  vain. 

And  the  Shadow  of  the  Night  and  not  Love  was  departed ; 
I  was  sore,  I  was  weary,  yet  Love  lived  to  seek  ; 

So  I  scaled  the  dark  mountains,  and  wandered  sad-hearted 
Over  wearier  wastes,  where  e'en  sunlight  was  bleak, 
With  no  rest  of  the  night  for  my  soul  waxen  weak. 


284  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

With  no  rest  of  the  night ;  for  /  waked  mid  a  story 
Of  a  land  wherein  Love  is  the  light  and  the  lord, 

Where  my  tale  shall  be  heard,  and  my  wounds  gain  a  glory, 
And  my  tears  be  a  treasure  to  add  to  the  hoard 
Of  pleasure  laid  up  for  his  people's  reward. 

Ah,  pleasure  laid  up  !  haste  thou  onward  and  listen, 
For  the  wind  of  the  waste  has  no  music  like  this, 

And  not  thus  do  the  rocks  of  the  wilderness  glisten  : 
With  the  host  of  his  faithful  through  sorrow  and  bliss 
My  Lord  goeth  forth  now,  and  knows  me  for  his. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  285 


Enter  before  the  curtain  LOVE,  with  a  cup  of  bitter  drink 
and  his  hands  bloody. 

LOVE 

OPHARAMOND,  I  knew  thee  brave  and  strong, 
And  yet  how  might'st  thou  live  to  bear  this  wrong  ? 
— A  wandering-tide  of  three  long  bitter  years, 
Solaced  at  whiles  by  languor  of  soft  tears, 
By  dreams  self-wrought  of  night  and  sleep  and  sorrow, 
Holpen  by  hope  of  tears  to  be  to-morrow  : 
Yet  all,  alas,  but  wavering  memories ; 
No  vision  of  her  hands,  her  lips,  her  eyes, 
Has  blessed  him  since  he  seemed  to  see  her  weep, 
No  wandering  feet  of  hers  beset  his  sleep. 

Woe's  me  then  !  am  I  cruel,  or  am  I  grown 
The  scourge  of  Fate,  lest  men  forget  to  moan  ? 
What ! — is  there  blood  upon  these  hands  of  mine  ? 
Is  venomed  anguish  mingled  with  my  wine  ? 
— Blood  there  may  be,  and  venom  in  the  cup ; 
But  see,  Beloved,  how  the  tears  well  up 
From  my  grieved  heart  my  blinded  eyes  to  grieve, 
And  in  the  kindness  of  old  days  believe ! 
So  after  all  then  we  must  weep  to-day — 
— We,  who  behold  at  ending  of  the  way, 
These  lovers  tread  a  bower  they  may  not  miss 
Whose  door  my  servant  keepeth,  Earthly  Bliss  : 


286  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

There  in  a  little  while  shall  they  abide, 

Nor  each  from  each  their  wounds  of  wandering  hide, 

But  kiss  them,  each  on  each,  and  find  it  sweet, 

That  wounded  so  the  world  they  may  not  meet. 

— Ah,  truly  mine  !  since  this  your  tears  may  move, 

The  very  sweetness  of  rewarded  love  ! 

Ah,  truly  mine,  that  tremble  as  ye  hear 

The  speech  of  loving  lips  grown  close  and  dear ; 

— Lest  other  sounds  from  other  doors  ye  hearken, 

Doors  that  the  wings  of  Earthly  Anguish  darken. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  287 


Scene :  On  a  Highway  in  a  Valley  near  the  last,  with  a 
Mist  over  all  things. 

KING  PHARAMOND,  MASTER  OLIVER. 

KING  PHARAMOND 

HOLD  a  while,  Oliver !  my  limbs  are  grown  weaker 
Than  when  in  the  wood  I  first  rose  to  my  feet. 
There  was    hope   in  my   heart   then,  and  now   nought   but 

sickness ; 
There  was   sight  in   my   eyes   then,   and    now   nought   but 

blindness. 

Good  art  thou,  hope,  while  the  life  yet  tormenteth, 
But  a  better  help  now  have  I  gained  than  thy  goading. 
Farewell,  O  life,  wherein  once  I  was  merry ! 
O  dream  of  the  world,  I  depart  now,  and  leave  thee 
A  little  tale  added  to  thy  long-drawn-out  story. 
Cruel  wert  thou,  O  Love,  yet  have  thou  and  I  conquered 
— Come  nearer,  O  fosterer,  come  nearer  and  kiss  me, 
Bid  farewell  to  thy  fosterling  while  the  life  yet  is  in  me, 
For  this  farewell  to  thee  is  my  last  word  meseemeth. 

\He  lies  down  and  sleeps. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

O  my  king,  O  my  son  !     Ah,  woe's  me  for  my  kindness, 
For  the  day  when  thou  drew'st  me  and  I  let  thee  be  drawn 
Into  toils  I  knew  deadly,  into  death  thou  desiredst ! 


288  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

And  woe's  me  that  I  die  not !  for  my  body  made  hardy 

By  the  battles  of  old  days  to  bear  every  anguish  ! 

— Speak  a  word  and  forgive  me,  for  who  knows  how  long  yet 

Are  the  days  of  my  life,  and  the  hours  of  my  loathing  ! 

He  speaks  not,  he  moves  not :  yet  he  draweth  breath  softly  : 

I  have  seen  men  a-dying,  and  not  thus  did  the  end  come. 

Surely  God  who  made  all  forgets  not  love's  rewarding, 

Forgets  not  the  faithful,  the  guileless  who  fear  not. 

Oh,  might  there  be  help  yet,  and  some  new  life's  beginning ! 

— Lo,  lighter  the  mist  grows :   there  come  sounds  through  its 

dulness, 

The  lowing  of  kine,  or  the  whoop  of  a  shepherd, 
The  bell-wether's  tinkle,  or  clatter  of  horse-hoofs. 
A  homestead  is  nigh  us  :  I  will  fare  down  the  highway 
And  seek  for  some  helping :  folk  said  simple  people 
Abode  in  this  valley,  and  these  may  avail  us — 
If  aught  it  avail  us  to  live  for  a  little. 
—Yea,  give  it  us,  God ! — all  the  fame  and  the  glory 
We  fought  for  and  gained  once ;  the  life  of  well-doing, 
Fair  deed  thrusting  on  deed,  and  no  day  forgotten ; 
And  due  worship  of  folk^that  his  great  heart  had  holpen ; — 
All  I  prayed  for  him  once  now  no  longer  I  pray  for. 
Let  it  all  pass  away  as  my  warm  breath  now  passeth 
In  the  chill  of  the  morning  mist  wherewith  thou  hidest 
Fair  vale  and  grey  mountain  of  the  land  we  are  come  to  ! 
Let  it  all  pass  away !  but  some  peace  and  some  pleasure 
I  pray  for  him  yet,  and  that  I  may  behold  it. 
A  prayer  little  and  lowly, — and  we  in  the  old  time 
When  the  world  lay  before  us,  were  we  hard  to  the  lowly  ? 
Thou  know'st  we  were  kind,  howso  hard  to  be  beaten ; 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  289 

Wilt  them  help  us  this  last  time  ?  or  what  hast  thou  hidden 
We  know  not,  we  name  not,  some  crown  for  our  striving  ? 
— O  body  and  soul  of  my  son,  may  God  keep  thee  ! 
'  For,  as  lone  as  thou  liest  in  a  land  that  we  see  not 
When  the  world  loseth  thee,  what  is  left  for  its  losing  ? 

[Exit  OLIVER. 


290  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


THE    MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH:  cherish  life  that  abideth, 

Lest  ye  die  ere  ye  know  him,  and  curse  and  misname  him  ; 
For  who  knows  in  what  ruin  of  all  hope  he  hideth, 
On  what  wings  of  the  terror  of  darkness  he  rideth  ? 

And  what  is  the  joy  of  man's  life  that  ye  blame  him 

For  his  bliss  grown  a  sword,  and  his  rest  grown  afire  ? 

Ye  who  tremble  for  death,  or  the  death  of  desire, 
Pass  about  the  cold  winter-tide  garden  and  ponder 

On  the  rose  in  his  glory  amidst  of  June's  fire, 

On  the  languor  of  noontide  that  gathered  the  thunder, 
On  the  morn  and  its  freshness,  the  eve  and  its  wonder : 
Ye  may  wake  it  no  more — shall  Spring  come  to  awaken  ? 

Live  on,  for  Love  liveth,  and  earth  shall  be  shaken 

By  the  wind  of  his  wings  on  the  triumphing  morning, 
When  the  dead,  and  their  deeds  that  die  not  shall  awaken, 
And  the  world's  tale  shall  sound  in  your  trumpet  of  warning, 
And  the  sun  smite  the  banner  called  Scorn  of  the  Scorning, 
And  dead  pain  ye  shall  trample,  dead  fruitless  desire, 
As  ye  wend  to  pluck  out  the  new  world  from  the  fire. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  291 


Enter  before  the  curtain,  LOVE  clad  as  a  Pilgrim. 

LOVE 

A  ".ONE,  afar  from  home  doth  Pharamond  lie, 
Drawn  near  to  death,  ye  deem — or  what  draws  nigh  ? 
Afar  from  home — and  have  ye  any  deeming 
How  far  may  be  that  country  of  his  dreaming  ? 
Is  it  not  time,  is  it  not  time,  say  ye, 
That  we  the  day-star  in  the  sky  should  see  ? 

Patience,  Beloved ;  these  may  come  to  live 
A  life  fulfilled  of  all  I  have  to  give, 
But  bare  of  strife  and  story ;  and  ye  know  well 
How  wild  a  tale  of  him  might  be  to  tell 
Had  I  not  snatched  away  the  sword  and  crown ; 
Yea,  and  she  too  was  made  for  world's  renown, 
And  should  have  won  it,  had  my  bow  not  been ; 
These  that  I  love  were  very  king  and  queen ; 
I  have  discrowned  them,  shall  I  not  crown  too  ? 
Ye  know,  Beloved,  what  sharp  bitter  dew, 
What  parching  torment  of  unresting  day 
Falls  on  the  garden  of  my  deathless  bay : 
Hands  that  have  gathered  it  and  feet  that  came 
Beneath  its  shadow  have  known  flint  and  flame ; 
Therefore  I  love  them ;  and  they  love  no  less 
Each  furlong  of  the  road  of  past  distress. 
— Ah,  Faithful,  tell  me  for  what  rest  and  peace, 
What  length  of  happy  days  and  world's  increase, 


292  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

What  hate  of  wailing,  and  what  love  of  laughter, 
What  hope  and  fear  of  worlds  to  be  hereafter, 
Would  ye  cast  by  that  crown  of  bitter  leaves  ? 


And  yet,  ye  say,  our  very  heart  it  grieves 
To  see  him  lying  there  :  how  may  he  save 
His  life  and  love  if  he  more  pain  must  have  ? 
And  she — how  fares  it  with  her  ?  is  not  earth 
From  winter's  sorrow  unto  summer's  mirth 
Grown  all  too  narrow  for  her  yearning  heart  ? 
We  pray  thee,  Love,  keep  these  no  more  apart. 

Ye  say  but  sooth :  not  long  may  he  endure  : 
And  her  heart  sickeneth  past  all  help  or  cure 
Unless  I  hasten  to  the  helping — see, 
Am  I  not  girt  for  going  speedily  ? 
— The  journey  lies  before  me  long  ? — nay,  nay, 
Upon  my  feet  the  dust  is  lying  grey, 
The  staff  is  heavy  in  my  hand. — Ye  too, 
Have  ye  not  slept  ?  or  what  is  this  ye  do, 
Wearying  to  find  the  country  ye  are  in  ? 

\The  curtain  draws  up  andishows  the  same  scene 
as    the    last,   with    the    mist    clearing^    and 
PHARAMOND  lying  there  as  before. 
Look,  look  !  how  sun  and  morn  at  last  do  win 
Upon  the  shifting  waves  of  mist !  behold 
That  mountain-wall  the  earth-fires  rent  of  old, 
Grey  toward  the  valley,  sun-gilt  at  the  side ! 
See  the  black  yew-wood  that  the  pass  doth  hide  ! 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  293 

Search  through  the  mist  for  knoll,  and  fruited  tree, 
And  winding  stream,  and  highway  white — and  see, 
See,  at  my  feet  lies  Pharamond  the  Freed  1 
A  happy  journey  have  we  gone  indeed ! 


Hearken,  Beloved,  over-long,  ye  deem, 

I  let  these  lovers  deal  with  hope  and  dream 

Alone  unholpen. — Somewhat  sooth  ye  say : 

But  now  her  feet  are  on  this  very  way 

That  leadeth  from  the  city  :  and  she  saith 

One  beckoneth  her  back  hither  ward — even  Death — 

And  who  was  that,  Beloved,  but  even  I  ? 

Yet  though  her  feet  and  sunlight  are  drawn  nigh 

The  cold  grass  where  he  lieth  like  the  dead, 

To  ease  your  hearts  a  little  of  their  dread 

I  will  abide  her  coming,  and  in  speech 

He  knoweth,  somewhat  of  his  welfare  teach. 


294  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


LOVE  goes  on  to  the  Stage  and  stands  at 
PHARAMOND'S  head. 

LOVE 

T  T  EARKEN,  O  Pharamond,  why  earnest  thou  hither  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

I  came  seeking  Death ;  I  have  found  him  belike. 

LOVE 

In  what  land  of  the  world  art  thou  lying,  O  Pharamond  ? 


KING   PHARAMOND 

In  a  land  'twixt  two  worlds :  nor  long  shall  I  dwell  there. 


LOVE 

Who  am  I,  Pharamond,  that  stand  here  beside  thee  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

The  Death  I  have  sought — thou  art  welcome ;  I  greet  thee. 

LOVE 
Such  a  name  have  I  had,  but  another  name  have  I. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Art  thou  God  then  that  helps  not  until  the  last  season  ? 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  295 

LOVE 

Yea,  God  am  I  surely  \  yet  another  name  have  I. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Methinks  as  I  hearken,  thy  voice  I  should  wot  of. 

LOVE 
I  called  thee,  and  thou  cam'st  from  thy  glory  and  kingship. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

I  was  King  Pharamond,  and  love  overcame  me. 

LOVE 
Pharamond,  thou  say'st  it. — I  am  Love  and  thy  master. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Sooth  didst  thou  say  when  thou  call'dst  thyself  Death. 

LOVE 
Though  thou  diest,  yet  thy  love  and  thy  deeds  shall  I  quicken 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Be  thou  God,  be  thou  Death,  yet  I  love  thee  and  dread  not. 

LOVE 
Pharamond,  while  thou  livedst  what  thing  wert  thou  loving  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

A  dream  and  a  lie— and  my  death — and  I  love  it 


296  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

LOVE 

Pharamond,  do  my  bidding,  as  thy  wont  was  aforetime. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

What  wilt  thou  have  of  me,  for  I  wend  away  swiftly  ? 

LOVE 
Open  thine  eyes,  and  behold  where  thou  liest ! 

KING    PHARAMOND 

It  is  little — the  old  dream,  the  old  lie  is  about  me. 

LOVE 
Why  faintest  thou,  Pharamond  ?  is  love  then  unworthy  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Then  hath  God  made  no  world  now,  nor  shall  make  hereafter. 

LOVE 
Wouldst  thou  live  if  thou  mightst  in  this  fair  world,  O  Pharamond? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Yea,  if  she  and  truth  were ;  nay,  if  she  and  truth  were  not. 

LOVE 

O  long  shalt  thou  live :  thou  art  here  in  the  body, 
Where  nought  but  thy  spirit  I  brought  in  days  bygone. 
Ah,  thou  hearkenest ! — and  where  then  of  old  hast  thou  heard  it? 

[Music  outside,  far  off. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  297 

KING    PHARAMOND 

O  mock  me  not,  Death  ;  or,  Life,  hold  me  no  longer ! 
For  that  sweet  strain  I  hear  that  I  heard  once  a-dreaming : 
Is  it  death  coming  nigher,  or  life  come  back  that  brings  it  ? 
Or  rather  my  dream  come  again  as  aforetime  ? 

LOVE 
Look  up,  O  Pharamond !  canst  thou  see  aught  about  thee  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Yea,  surely :  all  things  as  aforetime  I  saw  them : 
The  mist  fading  out  with  the  first  of  the  sunlight, 
And  the  mountains  a-changing  as  oft  in  my  dreaming, 
And  the  thornbrake  anigh  blossomed  thick  with  the  May-tide. 

[Music  again. 
O  my  heart ! — I  am  hearkening  thee  whereso  thou  wanderest ! 

LOVE 
Put  forth  thine  hand,  feel  the  dew  on  the  daisies ! 

KING   PHARAMOND 

So  their  freshness  I  felt  in  the  days  ere  hope  perished. 
— O  me,  me,  my  darling  !  how  fair  the  world  groweth  ! 
Ah,  shall  I  not  find  thee,  if  death  yet  should  linger, 
Else  why  grow  I  so  glad  now  when  life  seems  departing  ? 
What  pleasure  thus  pierceth  my  heart  unto  fainting  ? 
— O  me,  into  words  now  thy  melody  passeth. 


298  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

MUSIC  with  singing  {from  without) 

Dawn  talks  to-day 

Over  dew-gleaming  flowers^ 
Night  flies  away 

Till  the  resting  of  hours  : 
Fresh  are  thy  feet 

And  with  dreams  thine  eyes  glistening. 
Thy  still  lips  are  sweet 

Though  the  world  is  a-listening. 
O  Love,  set  a  word  in  my  mouth  for  our  meeting, 
Cast  thine  arms  round  about  me  to  stay  my  hearts  beating  ! 
O  fresh  day,  O  fair  day,  O  long  day  made  ours  / 

LOVE 

What  wilt  thou  say  now  of  the  gifts  Love  hath  given  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Stay  thy  whispering,  O  wind  of  the  morning — she  speaketh 

THE  MUSIC  (coming  nearer) 

Morn  shall  meet  noon 

While  the  flower-stems  yet  move, 
Though  the  wind  dieth  soon 

And  the  clouds  fade  above. 
Loved  lips  are  thine 

As  I  tremble  and  hearken  ; 
Bright  thine  eyes  shine, 

Though  the  leaves  thy  brow  darken. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  299 

O  Love,  kiss  me  into  silence,  lest  no  word  avail  me, 
Stay  my  head  with  thy  bosom  lest  breath  and  life  fail  me! 
O  sweet  day,  O  rich  day,  made  long  for  our  love  / 

LOVE 
Was  Love  then  a  liar  who  fashioned  thy  dreaming  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

O  fair-blossomed  tree,  stay  thy  rustling — I  hearken. 

THE  MUSIC  (coming  nearer) 

Late  day  shall  greet  eve, 

And  the  full  blossoms  shake, 
For  the  wind  will  not  leave 

The  tall  trees  while  they  wake. 
Eyes  soft  with  bliss, 

Come  nigher  and  nigher  t 
Sweet  mouth  I  kiss, 

Tell  me  all  thy  desire  / 

Let  us  speak,  love,  together  some  words  of  our  story, 

That  our  lips  as  they  part  may  remember  the  glory  / 

O  soft  day,  O  calm  day,  made  clear  for  our  sake  / 

LOVE 

What  wouldst  thou,  Pharamond  ?  why  art  thou  fainting  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

And  thou  diest,  fair  daylight,  now  she  draweth  near  me  ! 


3oo  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

THE  MUSIC  (close  outside) 

Eve  shall  kiss  night. 

And  the  leaves  stir  like  rain 
As  the  wind  stealeth  light 

O'er  the  grass  of  the  plain. 
Unseen  are  thine  eyes 

Mid  the  dreamy  nighfs  sleeping, 
And  on  my  mouth  there  lies 

The  dear  rain  of  thy  weeping. 

Hold,  silence,  love,  speak  not  of  the  sweet  day  departed^ 
Cling  close  to  me,  love,  lest  I  waken  sad-hearted  / 
O  kind  day,  O  dear  day,  short  day,  come  again  I 

LOVE 

Sleep  then,  O  Pharamond,  till  her  kiss  shall  awake  thee, 
For,  lo,  here  comes  the  sun  o'er  the  tops  of  the  mountains, 
And  she  with  his  light  in  her  hair  comes  before  him, 
As  solemn  and  fair  as  the  dawn  of  the  May-tide 
On  some  isle  of  mid-ocean  when  all  winds  are  sleeping. 
O  worthy  is  she  of  this  hour  that  awaits  her, 
/  And  the  death  of  all  doubt,  and  beginning  of  gladness 
Her  great  heart  shall  embrace  without  fear  or  amazement. 
— He  sleeps,  yet  his  heart's  beating  measures  her  footfalls ; 
And  her  heart  beateth  too,  as  her  feet  bear  her  onward : 
Breathe  gently  between  them,  O  breeze  of  the  morning ! 
Wind  round  them  unthought  of,  sweet  scent  of  the  blossoms  ! 
Treasure  up  every  minute  of  this  tide  of  their  meeting, 
O  flower-bedecked  Earth  !  with  such  tales  of  my  triumph 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  301 

Is  your  life  still  renewed,  and  spring  comes  back  for  ever 
From  that  forge  of  all  glory  that  brought  forth  my  blessing. 

0  welcome,  Love's  darling  !     Shall  this  day  ever  darken, 
Whose  dawn  I  have  dight  for  thy  longing  triumphant? 

[Exit  Lo  VE.     Enter  AZA  LA  is. 

AZALAIS 

A  song  in  my  mouth,  then  ?  my  heart  full  of  gladness  ? 

My  feet  firm  on  the  earth,  as  when  youth  was  beginning  ? 

And  the  rest  of  my  early  days  come  back  to  bless  me  ? — 

Who  hath  brought  me  these  gifts  in  the  midst  of  the  May-tide  ? 

What ! — three  days  agone  to  the  city  I  wandered, 

And  watched  the  ships  warped  to  the  Quay  of  the  Merchants  ; 

And  wondered  why  folk  should  be  busy  and  anxious ; 

For  bitter  my  heart  was,  and  life  seemed  a-waning, 

With  no  story  told,  with  sweet  longing  turned  torment, 

Love  turned  to  abasement,  and  rest  gone  for  ever. 

And  last  night  I  awoke  with  a  pain  piercing  through  me, 

And  a  cry  in  my  ears,  and  Death  passed  on  before, 

As  one  pointing  the  way,  and  I  rose  up  sore  trembling, 

And  by  cloud  and  by  night  went  before  the  sun's  coming, 

As  one  goeth  to  death, — and  lo  here  the  dawning ! 

And  a  dawning  therewith  of  a  dear  joy  I  know  not. 

1  have  given  back  the  day  the  glad  greeting  it  gave  me ; 
And  the  gladness  it  gave  me,  that  too  would  I  give 

Were  hands  held  out  to  crave  it. Fair  valley,  I  greet  thee, 

And  the  new-wakened  voices  of  all  things  familiar. 
—Behold,  how  the  mist-bow  lies  bright  on  the  mountain, 
Bidding  hope  as  of  old  since  no  prison  endureth. 
Full  busy  has  May  been  these  days  I  have  missed  her, 


• 


302  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

And  the  milkwort  is  blooming,  and  blue  falls  the  speedwell. 
— Lo,  here  have  been  footsteps  in  the  first  of  the  morning, 
Since  the  moon  sank  all  red  in  the  mist  now  departed. 
— Ah  !  what  lieth  there  by  the  side  of  the  highway  ? 
Is  it  death  stains  the  sunlight,  or  sorrow  or  sickness  ? 

[Going  up  to  PHARAMOND. 

— Not  death,  for  he  sleepeth  ;  but  beauty  sore  blemished 
By  sorrow  and  sickness,  and  for  all  that  the  sweeter. 
I  will  wait  till  he  wakens  and  gaze  on  his  beauty, 
Lest  I  never  again  in  the  world  should  behold  him. 
—Maybe  I  may  help  him ;  he  is  sick  and  needs  tending, 
He  is  poor,  and  shall  scorn  not  our  simpleness  surely. 
Whence  came  he  to  us-ward — what  like  has  his  life  been — 
Who  spoke  to  him  last — for  what  is  he  longing  ? 
— As  one  hearkening  a  story  I  wonder  what  cometh, 
And  in  what  wise  my  voice  to  our  homestead  shall  bid  him. 

0  heart,  how  thou  faintest  with  hope  of  the  gladness 

1  may  have  for  a  little  if  there  he  abide. 

Soft  there  shalt  thou  sleep,  love,  and  sweet  shall  thy  dreams  be, 

And  sweet  thy  awaking  amidst  of  the  wonder 

Where  thou  art,  who  is  nigh  thee — and  then,  when  thou  seest 

How  the  rose-boughs  hang  in  o'er  the  little  loft  window, 

And  the  blue  bowl  with  roses  is  close  to  thine  hand, 

And  over  thy  bed  is  the  quilt  sewn  with  lilies, 

And  the  loft  is  hung  round  with  the  green  Southland  hangings, 

And  all  smelleth  sweet  as  the  low  door  is  opened, 

And  thou  turnest  to  see  me  there  standing,  and  holding 

Such  dainties  as  may  be,  thy  new  hunger  to  stay — 

Then  well  may  I  hope  that  thou  wilt  not  remember 

Thine  old  woes  for  a  moment  in  the  freshness  and  pleasure, 


il 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  303 

And  that  I  shall  be  part  of  thy  rest  for  a  little. 
And  then — who  shall  say — wilt  thou  tell  me  thy  story, 
And  what  thou  hast  loved,  and  for  what  thou  hast  striven  ? 
—Thou   shalt  see  me,  and  my  love  and  my  pity,  as  thou 

speakest, 
And  it  may  be  thy  pity  shall  mingle  with  mine. 

— And  meanwhile Ah,  love,  what  hope  may  my  heart  hold  ? 

For  I  see  that  thou  lovest,  who  ne'er  hast  beheld  me. 
And  how  should  thy  love  change,  howe'er  the  world  changeth  ? 
Yet  meanwhile,  had  I  dreamed  of  the  bliss  of  this  minute, 
How  might  I  have  borne  to  live  weary  and  waiting  ! 

Woe's  me !  do  I  fear  thee  ?  else  should  I  not  wake  thee, 
For  tending  thou  needest. — If  my  hand  touched  thy  hand 

\Touching  him. 

I  should  fear  thee  the  less. — O  sweet  friend,  forgive  it, 
My  hand  and  my  tears,  for  faintly  they  touched  thee ! 
He  trembleth,  and  waketh  not :  O  me,  my  darling ! 
Hope  whispers  that  thou  hear'st  me  through  sleep,  and  wouldst 

waken, 

But  for  dread  that  thou  dreamest  and  I  should  be  gone. 
Doth  it  please  thee  in  dreaming  that  I  tremble  and  dread  thee, 
That  these  tears  are  the  tears  of  one  praying  vainly, 
Who  shall  pray  with  no  word  when  thou  hast  awakened  ? 
—Yet  how  shall  I  deal  with  my  life  if  he  love  not, 
As  how  should  he  love  me,  a  stranger,  unheard  of? 
— O  bear  witness,  thou  day  that  hast  brought  my  love  hither  ! 
Thou  sun  that  burst  out  through  the  mist  o'er  the  mountains, 
In  that  moment  mine  eyes  met  the  field  of  his  sorrow — 
Bear  witness,  ye  fields  that  have  fed  me  and  clothed  me, 


3o4  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

And  air  I  have  breathed,  and  earth  that  hast  borne  me — 

Though  I  find  you  but  shadows,  and  wrought  but  for  fading, 

Though  all  ye  and  God  fail  me, — my  love  shall  not  fail ! 

Yea,  even  if  this  love,  that  seemeth  such  pleasure 

As  earth  is  unworthy  of,  turneth  to  pain ; 

If  he  wake  without  memory  of  me  and  my  weeping, 

With  a  name  on  his  lips  not  mine — that  I  know  not : 

If  thus  my  hand  leave  his  hand  for  the  last  time, 

And  no  word  from  his  lips  be  kind  for  my  comfort — 

If  all  speech  fail  between  us,  all  sight  fail  me  henceforth, 

If  all  hope  and  God  fail  me — my  love  shall  not  fail 

— Friend,  I  may  not  forbear :  we  have  been  here  together : 
My  hand  on  thy  hand  has  been  laid,  and  thou  trembledst. 
Think  now  if  this  May  sky  should  darken  above  us, 
And  the  death  of  the  world  in  this  minute  should  part  us — 
Think,  my  love,  of  the  loss  if  my  lips  had  not  kissed  thee. 
And  forgive  me  my  hunger  of  no  hope  begotten  !  [She  kisses  him. 

KING  PHARAMOND  (awaking) 

Who  art  thou  ?  who  art  thou,  that  my  dream  I  might  tell  thee  ? 
How  with  words  full  of  love  she  drew  near  me,  and  kissed  me. 
O  thou  kissest  me  yet,  and  thou  clingest  about  me ! 
Ah,  kiss  me  and  wake  me  into  death  and  deliverance ! 

AZALAIS  (drawing  away  from  him) 

Speak  no  rough  word,  I  pray  thee,  for  a  little,  thou  loveliest ! 
But  forgive  me,  for  the  years  of  my  life  have  been  lonely, 
And  thou  art  come  hither  with  the  eyes  of  one  seeking. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  305 


KING    PHARAMOND 


Sweet  dream  of  old  days,  and  her  very  lips  speaking 
The  words  of  my  lips  and  the  night  season's  longing. 
How  might  I  have  lived  had  I  known  what  I  longed  for ! 


AZALAIS 


I  knew  thou  wouldst  love,  I  knew  all  thy  desire — 
Am  I  she  whom  thou  seekest  ?  may  I  draw  nigh  again  ? 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Ah,  lengthen  no  more  the  years  of  my  seeking, 

For  thou  knowest  my  love  as  thy  love  lies  before  me. 

AZALAIS  (coming  near  to  him  again) 

0  Love,  there  was  fear  in  thine  eyes  as  thou  wakenedst ; 
Thy  first  words  were  of  dreaming  and  death — but  we  die  not. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

In  thine  eyes  was  a  terror  as  thy  lips'  touches  faded, 
Sore  trembled  thine  arms  as  they  fell  away  from  me ; 
And  thy  voice  was  grown  piteous  with  words  of  beseeching, 
So  that  still  for  a  little  my  search  seemed  unended. 
— Ah,  enending,  unchanging  desire  fulfils  me ! 

1  cry  out  for  thy  comfort  as  thou  clingest  about  me, 
O  joy  hard  to  bear,  but  for  memory  of  sorrow, 

But  for  pity  of  past  days  whose  bitter  is  sweet  now  ! 


306  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Let  us  speak,  love,  together  some  word  of  our  story, 
That  our  lips  as  they  part  may  remember  the  glory. 

AZALAIS 

O  Love,  kiss  me  into  silence  lest  no  word  avail  me ; 
Stay  my  head  with  thy  bosom  lest  breath  and  life  fail  me. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  307 


THE  MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH  :  while  ye  deemed  him  a-sleeping, 

There  were  signs  of  his  coming  and  sounds  of  his  feet ; 
His  touch  it  was  that  would  bring  you  to  weeping, 
When  the  summer  was  deepest  and  music  most  sweet : 

In  his  footsteps  ye  followed  the  day  to  its  dying, 
Ye  went  forth  by  his  gown-skirts  the  morning  to  meet: 
In  his  place  on  the  beaten-down  orchard-grass  tying, 
Of  the  sweet  ways  ye  pondered  yet  left  for  life's  trying. 

Ah,  what  was  all  dreaming  of  pleasure  anear  you, 

To  the  time  when  his  eyes  on  your  wistful  eyes  turned, 
And  ye  saw  his  lips  move,  and  his  head  bend  to  hear  you, 
As  new-born  and  glad  to  his  kindness  ye  yearned? 

Ah,  what  was  all  dreaming  of  anguish  and  sorrow, 
To  the  time  when  the  world  in  his  torment  was  burned, 
And  no  god  your  heart  from  its  prison  might  borrow, 
And  no  rest  was  left,  no  to-day,  no  to-morrow  ? 

All  wonder  of  pleasure,  all  doubt  of  desire, 

All  blindness,  are  ended,  and  no  more  ye  feel 
If  your  feet  tread  his  flowers  or  the  flames  of  his  fire, 
If  your  breast  meet  his  balms  or  the  edge  of  his  steel. 

Change  is  come,  and  past  over,  no  more  strife,  no  more 

learning  : 

Now  your  lips  and  your  forehead  are  sealed  with  his  seal, 
Look  backward  and  smile  at  the  thorns  and  the  burning. 
— Sweet  rest,  O  my  soul,  and  no  fear  of  returning  I 


3o8  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


Enter  before  the  curtain  LOVE,  clad  still  as  a  Pilgrim. 

LOVE 

HOW  is  it  with  the  Fosterer  then,  when  he 
Comes  back  again  that  rest  and  peace  to  see, 
And  God  his  latest  prayer  has  granted  now  ? — 
Why,  as  the  winds  whereso  they  list  shall  blow, 
So  drifts  the  thought  of  man,  and  who  shall  say 
To-morrow  shall  my  thought  be  as  to-day  ? 
— My  fosterling  is  happy,  and  I  too ; 
Yet  did  we  leave  behind  things  good  to  do, 
Deeds  good  to  tell  about  when  we  are  dead. 
Here  is  no  pain,  but  rest,  and  easy  bread  ; 
Yet  therewith  something  hard  to  understand 
Dulls  the  crowned  work  to  which  I  set  my  hand. 
Ah,  patience  yet !  his  longing  is  well  won, 
And  I  shall  die  at  last  and  all  be  done. — 
Such  words  unspoken  the  best  man  on  earth 
Still  bears  about  betwixt  the  lover's  mirth ; 
And  now  he  hath  what  he  went  forth  to  find, 
This  Pharamond  is  neither  dull  nor  blind, 
And  looking  upon  Oliver,  he  saith : — 
My  friend  recked  nothing  of  his  life  or  death, 
Knew  not  my  anguish  then,  nor  now  my  pleasure, 
And  by  my  crowned  joy  sets  his  lessened  treasure. 
Is  risk  of  twenty  days  of  wind  and  sea, 
Of  new-born  feeble  headless  enmity, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  309 

I  should  have  scorned  once,  too  great  gift  to  give 
To  this  most  faithful  man  that  he  may  live  ? 

—Yea,  was  that  all  ?  my  faithful,  you  and  I, 

Still  craving,  scorn  the  world  too  utterly, 

The  world  we  want  not — yet,  our  one  desire 

Fulfilled  at  last,  what  next  shall  feed  the  fire? 

— I  say  not  this  to  make  my  altar  cold ; 

Rather  that  ye,  my  happy  ones,  should  hold 

Enough  of  memory  and  enough  of  fear 

Within  your  hearts  to  keep  its  flame  full  clear ; 

Rather  that  ye,  still  dearer  to  my  heart, 

Whom  words  call  hapless,  yet  should  praise  your  part, 

Wherein  the  morning  and  the  evening  sun 

Are  bright  about  a  story  never  done ; 

That  those  for  chastening,  these  for  joy  should  cling 

About  the  marvels  that  my  minstrels  sing. 

Well,  Pharamond  fulfilled  of  love  must  turn 
Unto  the  folk  that  still  he  deemed  would  yearn 
To  see  his  face,  and  hear  his  voice  once  more ; 
And  he  was  mindful  of  the  days  passed  o'er, 
And  fain  had  linked  them  to  these  days  of  love ; 
And  he  perchance  was  fain  the  world  to  move 
While  love  looked  on ;  and  he  perchance  was  fain 
Some  pleasure  of  the  strife  of  old  to  gain. 
Easy  withal  it  seemed  to  him  to  land, 
And  by  his  empty  throne  awhile  to  stand 
Amid  the  wonder,  and  then  sit  him  down 
While  folk  went  forth  to  seek  the  hidden  crown. 


310  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Or  else  his  name  upon  the  same  wind  borne 

As  smote  the  world  with  winding  of  his  horn, 

His  hood  pulled  back,  his  banner  flung  abroad, 

A  gleam  of  sunshine  on  his  half-drawn  sword. 

— Well,  he  and  you  and  I  have  little  skill 

To  know  the  secret  of  Fate's  worldly  will ; 

Yet  can  I  guess,  and  you  belike  may  guess, 

Yea,  and  e'en  he  mid  all  his  lordliness, 

That  much  may  be  forgot  in  three  years'  space 

Outside  my  kingdom. — Gone  his  godlike  face, 

His  calm  voice,  and  his  kindness,  half  akin 

Amid  a  blind  folk  to  rebuke  of  sin, 

Men  'gin  to  think  that  he  was  great  and  good, 

But  hindered  them  from  doing  as  they  would, 

And  ere  they  have  much  time  to  think  on  it 

Between  their  teeth  another  has  the  bit, 

And  forth  they  run  with  Force  and  Fate  behind. 

— Indeed  his  sword  might  somewhat  heal  the  blind, 

Were  I  not,  and  the  softness  I  have  given ; 

With  me  for  him  have  hope  and  glory  striven 

In  other  days  when  my  tale  was  beginning ; 

But  sweet  life  lay  beyond  then  for  the  winning, 

And  now  what  sweetness  ? — blood  of  men  to  spill 

Who  once  believed  him  God  to  heal  their  ill : 

To  break  the  gate  and  storm  adown  the  street 

Where  once  his  coming  flower- crowned  girls  did  greet : 

To  deem  the  cry  come  from  amidst  his  folk 

When  his  own  country  tongue  should  curse  his  stroke — 

Nay,  he  shall  leave  to  better  men  or  worse 

His  people's  conquered  homage  and  their  curse. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  311 

So  forth  they  go,  his  Oliver  and  he, 
One  thing  at  least  to  learn  across  the  sea, 
That  whatso  needless  shadows  life  may  borrow 
Love  is  enough  amidst  of  joy  or  sorrow. 

Love  is  enough — My  Faithful,  in  your  eyes 
I  see  the  thought,  Our  Lord  is  overwise 
Some  minutes  past  in  what  concerns  him  not, 
And  us  no  more :  is  all  his  tale  forgot  ? 
— Ah,  Well-beloved,  I  fell  asleep  e'en  now, 
And  in  my  sleep  some  enemy  did  show 
Sad  ghosts  of  bitter  things,  and  names  unknown 
For  things  I  know — a  maze  with  shame  bestrown 
And  ruin  and  death ;  till  e'en  myself  did  seem 
A  wandering  curse  amidst  a  hopeless  dream. 
— Yet  see  !  I  live,  no  older  than  of  old, 
What  tales  soe'er  of  changing  Time  has  told. 
And  ye  who  cling  to  all  my  hand  shall  give, 
Sorrow  or  joy,  no  less  than  I  shall  live. 


3i2  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


Scene:  Before  KING  PHARAMOND'S  Palace. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

ALONG  time  it  seems  since  this  morn  when  I  met  them, 
The  men  of  my  household  and  the  great  man  they  honour : 
Better  counsel  in  king-choosing  might  I  have  given 
Had  ye  bided  my  coming  back  hither,  my  people : 
And  yet  who  shall  say  or  foretell  what  Fate  meaneth  ? 
For  that  man  there,  the  stranger,  Honorius  men  called  him, 
I  account  him  the  soul  to  King  Theobald's  body, 
And  the  twain  are  one  king ;  and  a  goodly  king  may  be 
For  this  people,  who  grasping  at  peace  and  good  days, 
Careth  little  who  giveth  them  that  which  they  long  for. 
Yet  what  gifts  have  I  given  them ;  I  who  this  even 
Turn  away  with  grim  face  from  the  fight  that  should  try  me  ? 
It  is  just  then,  I  have  lost :  lie  down,  thou  supplanter, 
In  thy  tomb  in  the  minster  when  thy  life  is  well  over, 
And  the  well-carven  image  of  latten  laid  o'er  thee 
Shall  live  on  as  thou  livedst,  and  be  worthy  the  praising 
Whereby  folk  shall  remember  the  days  of  thy  plenty. 
Praising  Theobald  the  Good  and  the  peace  that  he  brought  them, 
But  I — I  shall  live  too,  though  no  graven  image 
On  the  grass  of  the  hillside  shall  brave  the  storms'  beating ; 
Though  through  days  of  thy  plenty  the  people  remember 
As  a  dim  time  of  war  the  past  days  of  King  Pharamond ; 
Yet  belike  as  time  weareth,  and  folk  turn  back  a  little 
To  the  darkness  where  dreams  lie  and  live  on  for  ever. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  313 

Even  there  shall  be  Pharamond  who  failed  not  in  battle, 
But  feared  to  overcome  his  folk  who  forgot  him, 
And  turned  back  and  left  them  a  tale  for  the  telling, 
A  song  for  the  singing,  that  yet  in  some  battle 
May  grow  to  remembrance  and  rend  through  the  ruin 
As  my  sword  rent  it  through  in  the  days  gone  for  ever. 
So,  like  Enoch  of  old,  I  was  not,  for  God  took  me. 
— But  lo,  here  is  Oliver,  all  draws  to  an  ending — 

\Enter  OLIVER. 

Well  met,  my  Oliver !  the  clocks  strike  the  due  minute. 
What  news  hast  thou  got  ? — thou  art  moody  of  visage. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

In  one  word,  'tis  battle ;  the  days  we  begun  with 
Must  begin  once  again  with  the  world  waxen  baser. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Ah  !  battle  it  may  be :  but  surely  no  river 

Runneth  back  to  its  springing :  so  the  world  has  grown  wiser 

And  Theobald  the  Constable  is  king  in  our  stead, 

And  contenteth  the  folk  who  cried,  "Save  us,  King  Pharamond ! " 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Hast  thou  heard  of  his  councillor  men  call  Honorius  ? 
Folk  hold  him  in  fear,  and  in  love  the  tale  hath  it. 

KING    PHARAMOND. 

Much  of  him  have  I  heard :  nay,  more,  I  have  seen  him 
With  the  men  of  my  household,  and  the  great  man  they  honour. 


314  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

They  were  faring  afield  to  some  hunt  or  disporting, 

Few  faces  were  missing,  and  many  1  saw  there 

I  was  fain  of  in  days  past  at  fray  or  at  feasting ; 

My    heart    yearned    towards    them — but    what — days    have 

changed  them, 
They  must  wend  as  they  must  down  the  way  they  are  driven. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Yet  e'en  in  these  days  there  remaineth  a  remnant 
That  is  faithful  and  fears  not  the  flap  of  thy  banner. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

And  a  fair  crown  is  faith,  as  thou  knowest,  my  father ; 
Fails  the  world,  yet  that  faileth  not ;  love  hath  begot  it, 
Sweet  life  and  contentment  at  last  springeth  from  it ; 
No  helping  these  need  whose  hearts  still  are  with  me, 
Nay,  rather  they  handle  the  gold  rod  of  my  kingdom. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Yet  if  thou  leadest  forth  once  more  as  aforetime 
In  faith  of  great  deeds  will  I  follow  thee,  Pharamond, 
And  thy  latter  end  yet  shall  be  counted  more  glorious 
Than  thy  glorious  beginning ;  and  great  shall  my  gain  be 
If  e'en  I  must  die  ere  the  day  of  thy  triumph* 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Dear  is  thy  heart  mid  the  best  and  the  brightest, 
Yet  not  against  these  my  famed  blade  will  I  bare. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  315 

MASTER    OLIVER 

Nay,  what  hast  thou  heard  of  their  babble  and  baseness  ? 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Full  enough,  friend — content  thee,  my  lips  shall  not  speak  it, 

The  same  hour  wherein  they  have  said  that  I  love  thee. 

Suffice  it,  folk  need  me  no  more :  the  deliverance, 

Dear  bought  in  the  days  past,  their  hearts  have  forgotten, 

But  faintly  their  dim  eyes  a  feared  face  remember, 

Their  dull  ears  remember  a  stern  voice  they  hated. 

What  then,  shall  I  waken  their  fear  and  their  hatred, 

And  then  wait  till  fresh  terror  their  memory  awaketh, 

With  the  semblance  of  love  that  they  have  not  to  give  me  ? 

Nay,  nay,  they  are  safe  from  my  help  and  my  justice, 

And  I — I  am  freed,  and  fresh  waxeth  my  manhood. 

MASTER    OLIVER 

It  may  not  be  otherwise  since  thou  wilt  have  it, 

Yet  I  say  it  again,  if  thou  shake  out  thy  banner, 

Some  brave  men  will  be  borne  unto  earth  peradventure, 

Many  dastards  go  trembling  to  meet  their  due  doom, 

And  then  shall  come  fair  days  and  glory  upon  me 

And  on  all  men  on  earth  for  thy  fame,  O  King  Pharamond. 

KING   PHARAMOND 

Yea,  I  was  king  once ;  the  songs  sung  o'er  my  cradle 
Were  ballads  of  battle  and  deeds  of  my  fathers  : 
Yea,  I  was  King  Pharamond ;  in  no  carpeted  court-room 
Bore  they  the  corpse  of  my  father  before  me ; 


316  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

But  on  grass  trodden  grey  by  the  hoofs  of  the  war-steeds 
Did  I  kneel  to  his  white  lips  and  sword-cloven  bosom, 
As  from  clutch  of  dead  fingers  his  notched  sword  I  caught ; 
For  a  furlong  before  us  the  spear-wood  was  glistening. 
I  was  king  of  this  city  when  here  where  we  stand  now 
Amidst  a  grim  silence  I  mustered  all  men  folk 
Who  might  yet  bear  a  weapon ;  and  no  brawl  of  kings  was  it 
That  brought  war  on  the  city,  and  silenced  the  markets 
And  cumbered  the  haven  with  crowd  of  masts  sailless, 
But  great  countries  arisen  for  our  ruin  and  downfall. 
I  was  king  of  the  land,  when  on  all  roads  were  riding 
The  legates  of  proud  princes  to  pray  help  and  give  service- 
Yea,  I  was  a  great  king  at  last  as  I  sat  there, 
Peace  spread  far  about  me,  and  the  love  of  all  people 
To  my  palace  gates  wafted  by  each  wind  of  the  heavens. 
— And  where  sought  I  all  this  ?  with  what  price  did  I  buy  it  ? 
Nay,  for  thou  knowest  that  this  fair  fame  and  fortune 
Came  stealing  soft-footed  to  give  their  gifts  to  me : 
And  shall  I,  who  was  king  once,  grow  griping  and  weary 
In  unclosing  the  clenched  fists  of  niggards  who  hold  them, 
These  gifts  that  I  had  once,  and,  having,  scarce  heeded  ? 
Nay,  one  thing  I  have  sought,  I  have  sought  and  have  found  it, 
And  thou,  friend,  hast  helped  me  and  seest  me  made  happy. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Farewell  then  the  last  time,  O  land  of  my  fathers ! 

Farewell,  feeble  hopes  that  I  once  held  so  mighty. 

Yet  no  more  have  I  need  of  but  this  word  that  thou  sayest, 

And  nought  have  I  to  do  but  to  serve  thee,  my  master. 

In  what  land  of  the  world  shall  we  dwell  now  henceforward  ? 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  317 


KING    PHARAMOND 


In  the  land  where  my  love  our  returning  abideth, 
The  poor  land  and  kingless  of  the  shepherding  people, 
There  is  peace  there,  and  all  things  this  land  are  unlike  to. 


MASTER    OLIVER 

Before  the  light  waneth  will  I  seek  for  a  passage, 
Since  for  thee  and  for  me  the  land  groweth  perilous : 
Yea,  o'er  sweet  smell  the  flowers,  too  familiar  the  folk  seem, 
Fain  I  grow  of  the  salt  seas,  since  all  things  are  over  here. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

I  am  fain  of  one  hour's  farewell  in  the  twilight, 
To  the  times  I  lament  not :  times  worser  than  these  times, 
To  the  times  that  I  blame  not,  that  brought  on  times  better- 
Let  us  meet  in  our  hostel — be  brave  mid  thy  kindness, 
Let  thy  heart  say,  as  mine  saith,  that  fair  life  awaits  us. 

MASTER   OLIVER 

Yea,  no  look  in  thy  face  is  of  ruin,  O  my  master ; 

Thou  art  king  yet,  unchanged  yet,  nor  is  my  heart  changing ; 

The  world  hath  no  chances  to  conquer  thy  glory. 

[Exit  OLIVER. 

KING    PHARAMOND 

Full  fair  were  the  world  if  such  faith  were  remembered 
If  such  love  as  thy  love  had  its  due,  O  my  fosterer. 
Forgive  me  that  giftless  from  me  thou  departest, 


3i8  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

With  thy  gifts  in  my  hands  left.     I  might  not  but  take  them ; 

Thou  wilt  not  begrudge  me,  I  will  not  forget  thee. — 

— Long  fall  the  shadows  and  night  draws  on  apace  now, 

Day  sighs  as  she  sinketh  back  on  to  her  pillow, 

And  her  last  waking  breath  is  full  sweet  with  the  rose. 

— In  such  wise  depart  thou,  O  daylight  of  life, 

Loved  once  for  the  shadows  that  told  of  the  dreamtide ; 

Loved  still  for  the  longing  whereby  I  remember 

That  I  was  lone  once  in  the  world  of  thy  making ; 

Lone  wandering  about  on  thy  blind  way's  confusion, 

The  maze  of  thy  paths  that  yet  led  me  to  love. 

All  is  passed  now,  and  passionless,  faint  are  ye  waxen, 

Ye  hours  of  blind  seeking  full  of  pain  clean  forgotten, 

If  it  were  not  that  e'en  now  her  eyes  I  behold  not, 

That  the  way  lieth  long  to  her  feet  that  would  find  me, 

That  the  green  seas  delay  yet  her  fair  arms  enfolding, 

That  the  long  leagues  of  air  will  not  bear  the  cry  hither 

Wherewith  she  is  crying,  Come,  love,  for  I  love  thee. 

[A  trumpet  sounds, 

Hark !  O  days  grown  a  dream  of  the  dream  ye  have  won  me, 
Do  ye  draw  forth  the  ghosts  of  old  deeds  that  were  nothing, 
That  the  sound  of  my  trumpet  floats  down  on  the  even  ? 
What  shows  will  ye  give  me  to  grace  my  departure  ? 
Hark  ! — the  beat  of  the  horse-hoofs,  the  murmur  of  men  folk  ! 
Am  I  riding  from  battle  amidst  of  my  faithful, 
Wild  hopes  in  my  heart  of  the  days  that  are  coming ; 
Wild  longing  unsatisfied  clinging  about  me ; 
Full  of  faith  that  the  summer  sun  elsewhere  is  ripening 
The  fruit  grown  a  pain  for  my  parched  lips  to  think  of? 
— Come  back,  thou  poor  Pharamond  !  come  back  for  my  pity  ! 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  319 

Far  afield  must  them  fare  before  the  rest  cometh ; 
In  far  lands  are  they  raising  the  walls  of  thy  prison, 
Forging  wiles  for  waylaying,  and  fair  lies  for  lulling, 
The  faith  and  the  fire  of  the  heart  the  world  hateth. 
In  thy  way  wax  streams  fordless,  and  choked  passes  pathless, 
Fever  lurks  in  the  valley,  and  plague  passeth  over 
The  sand  of  the  plain,  and  with  venom  and  fury 
Fulfilled  are  the  woods  that  thou  needs  must  wend  through : 
In  the  hollow  of  the  mountains  the  wind  is  a-storing 
Till  the  keel  that  shall  carry  thee  hoisteth  her  sail ; 
War  is  crouching  unseen  round  the  lands  thou  shalt  come  to, 
With  thy  sword  cast  away  and  thy  cunning  forgotten. 
Yea,  and  e'en  the  great  lord,  the  great  Love  of  thy  fealty, 
He  who  goadeth  thee  on,  weaveth  nets  to  cast  o'er  thee. 
—And  thou  knowest  it  all,  as  thou  ridest  there  lonely, 
With  the  tangles  and  toils  of  to-morrow's  uprising 
Making  ready  meanwhile  for  more  days  of  thy  kingship. 
Faithful  heart  hadst  thou,  Pharamond,  to  hold  fast  thy  treasure  ! 
I  am  fain  of  thee  :  surely  no  shame  hath  destained  thee ; 
Come  hither,  for  thy  face  all  unkissed  would  I  look  on  I 
— Stand  we  close,  for  here  cometh  King  Theobald  from  the 
hunting. 


320  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 


Enter  KING  THEOBALD,  HONOR ius,  and  the  people. 

KING  THEOBALD 

A  fair  day,  my  folk,  have  I  had  in  your  fellowship, 
And  as  fair  a  day  cometh  to-morrow  to  greet  us, 
When  the  lord  of  the  Golden  Land  bringeth  us  tribute  : 
Grace  the  gifts  of  my  good-hap  with  your  presence,  I  pray  you. 

THE  PEOPLE 

God  save  Theobald  the  Good,  the  king  of  his  people ! 

HONORIUS  (aside) 

Yea,  save  him !  and  send  the  Gold  lords  away  satisfied, 
That  the  old  sword  of  Pharamond,  lying  asleep  there 
In  the  new  golden  scabbard,  will  yet  bite  as  aforetime ! 

[  They  pass  away  into  the  palace  court, 

KING  PHARAMOND 

Troop  past  in  the  twilight,  O  pageant  that  served  me, 
Pour  through  the  dark  archway  to  the  light  that  awaits  you 
In  the  chamber  of  dai's  where  I  once  sat  among  you ! 
Like  the  shadows  ye  are  to  the  shadowless  glory 
Of  the  banquet-hall  blazing  with  gold  and  light  go  ye : 
There  blink  for  a  little  at  your  king  in  his  bravery, 
Then  bear  forth  your  faith  to  the  blackness  of  night-tide, 
And  fall  asleep  fearless  of  memories  of  Pharamond, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  321 

And  in  dim  dreams  dream  haply  that  ye  too  are  kings 
— For  your  dull  morrow  cometh  that  is  as  to-day  is. 

Pass  on  in  contentment,  O  king,  I  discerned  not 

Through  the  cloak  of  your  blindness  that  saw  nought  beside 

thee, 

That  feared  for  no  pain  and  craved  for  no  pleasure  ! 
Pass  on,  dead-alive,  to  thy  place  !  thou  art  worthy  : 
Nor  shalt  thou  grow  wearier  than  well-worshipped  idol 
That  the  incense  winds  round  in  the  land  of  the  heathen, 
While  the  early  and  latter  rains  fall  as  God  listeth, 
And  on  earth  that  God  loveth  the  sun  riseth  daily. 
—Well  art  thou  :  for  wert  thou  the  crown  of  all  rulers, 
No  field  shouldst  thou  ripen,  free  no  frost-bounden  river, 
Loose  no  heart  from  its  love,  turn  no  soul  to  salvation, 
Thrust  no  tempest  aside,  stay  no  plague  in  mid  ocean, 
Yet  grow  unto  thinking  that  thou  wert  God's  brother, 
Till  loveless  death  gripped  thee  unloved,  unlamented. 
— Pass  forth,  weary  King,  bear  thy  crown  high  to-night ! 
Then  fall  asleep,  fearing  no  cry  from  times  bygone, 
But  in  dim  dreams  dream  haply  that  thou  art  desired, — 
—For  thy  dull  morrow  cometh,  and  is  as  to-day  is. 

Ah,  hold !  now  there  flashes  a  link  in  the  archway, 
And  its  light  falleth  full  on  thy  face,  O  Honorius, 
And  I  know  thee  the  land's  lord,  and  far  away  fadeth 
My  old  life  of  a  king  at  the  sight,  O  thou  stranger ! 
For  I  know  thee  full  surely  the  foe  the  heart  hateth 
For  that  barren  fulfilment  of  all  that  it  lacketh. 
I  may  turn  away  praising  that  those  days  long  departed 


322  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Departed  without  thee — how  long  had  I  piped  then 
Or  e'er  thou  hadst  danced,  how  long  were  my  weeping 
Ere  thou  hadst  lamented  ! — What  dear  thing  desired 
Would  thy  heart  e'er  have  come  to  know  why  I  craved  for ! 
To  what  crime  I  could  think  of  couldst  thou  be  consenting  ? 
Yet  thou — well  I  know  thee  most  meet  for  a  ruler — 
—Thou  lovest  not  mercy,  yet  shalt  thou  be  merciful ; 
Thou  joy'st  not  in  justice,  yet  just  shall  thy  dooms  be ; 
No  deep  hell  thou  dreadest,  nor  dream'st  of  high  heaven ; 
No  gleam  of  love  leads  thee ;  no  gift  men  may  give  thee ; 
For  no  kiss,  for  no  comfort  the  lone  way  thou  wearest, 
A  blind  will  without  life,  lest  thou  faint  ere  the  end  come 
—Yea,  folly  it  was  when  I  called  thee  my  foeman ; 
From  thee  may  I  turn  now  with  sword  in  the  scabbard 
Without  shame  or  misgiving,  because  God  hath  made  thee 
A  ruler  for  manfolk  :  pass  on  then  unpitied ! 
There  is  darkness  between  us  till  the  measure's  fulfilment. 
Amidst  singing  thou  hear'st  not,  fair  sights  that  thou  seest 

not, 

Think  this  eve  on  the  deeds  thou  shalt  set  in  men's  hands 
To  bring  fair  days  about  for  which  thou  hast  no  blessing. 
Then  fall  asleep  fearless  of  dead  days  that  return  not ; 
Yet  dream  if  thou  may'st  that  thou  yet  hast  a  hope  ! 
— For  thy  dull  morrow  cometh  and  is  as  to-day  is. 

O  sweet  wind  of  the  night,  wherewith  now  ariseth 
The  red  moon  through  the  garden  boughs  frail,  overladen, 
O  faint  murmuring  tongue  of  the  dream-tide  triumphant, 
That  wouldst  tell  me  sad  tales  in  the  times  long  passed  over, 
If  somewhat  I  sicken  and  turn  to  your  freshness, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  323 

From  no  shame  it  is  of  earth's  tangle  and  trouble, 

And  deeds  done  for  nought,  and  change  that  forgetteth ; 

But  for  hope  of  the  lips  that  I  kissed  on  the  sea-strand, 

But  for  hope  of  the  hands  that  clung  trembling  about  me, — 

And  the  breast  that  was  heaving  with  words  driven  backward, 

By  longing  I  longed  for,  by  pain  of  departing, 

By  my  eyes  that  knew  her  pain,  my  pain  that  might  speak  not — 

Yea,  for  hope  of  the  morn  when  the  sea  is  passed  over, 

And  for  hope  of  the  next  moon  the  elm-boughs  shall  tangle ; 

And  fresh  dawn,  and  fresh  noon,  and  fresh  night  of  desire 

Still  following  and  changing,  with  nothing  forgotten ; 

For  hope  of  new  wonder  each  morn,  when  I,  waking 

Behold  her  awaking  eyes  turning  to  seek  me ; 

For  hope  of  fresh  marvels  each  time  the  world  changing 

Shall  show  her  feet  moving  in  noontide  to  meet  me ; 

For  hope  of  fresh  bliss,  past  all  words,  half  forgotten, 

When  her  voice  shall  break  through  the  hushed  blackness  of 

night. 

— O  sweet  wind  of  the  summer-tide,  broad  moon  a-whitening, 
Bear  me  witness  to  Love,  and  the  world  he  has  fashioned ! 
It  shall  change,  we  shall  change,  as  through  rain  and  through 

sunshine 

The  green  rod  of  the  rose- bough  to  blossoming  changeth : 
Still  lieth  in  wait  with  his  sweet  tale  untold  of 
Each  long  year  of  Love,  and  the  first  scarce  beginneth, 
Wherein  I  have  hearkened  to  the  word  God  hath  whispered, 
Why  the  fair  world  was  fashioned  mid  wonders  uncounted. 
Breathe  soft,  O  sweet  wind,  for  surely  she  speaketh : 
Weary  I  wax,  and  my  life  is  a-waning  ; 
Life  lapsethfast,  and  I  faint  for  thee,  Pharamond, 


324  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

What  are  thou  lacking  if  Love  no  more  sufficeth  f 
— Weary  not,  sweet,  as  I  weary  to  meet  thee ; 
Look  not  on  the  long  way  but  my  eyes  that  were  weeping 
Paint  not  in  love  as  thy  Pharamond  fainteth ! — 
— Yea,  Love  were  enough  if  thy  lips  were  not  lacking. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  325 


THE    MUSIC 

LOVE  is  ENOUGH :  ho  ye  who  seek  saving, 

Go   no  further ;   come  hither  ;   there   have   been   who  have 

found  it, 

And  these  know  the  House  of  Fulfilment  of  Craving ; 
These  know  the  Cup  with  the  roses  around  it ; 
These  know  the   World's   Wound  and  the  balm  that  hath 

bound  it : 
Cry  out,  the  World  heedeth  not,  "  Love,  lead  us  home  1 " 

He  leadeth,  He  hearkeneth,  He  cometh  to  you-ward  ; 
Set  your  faces  as  steel  to  the  fears  that  assemble 

Round  his  goad  for  the  faint,  and  his  scourge  for  the  f row  ara  : 
Lo  his  lips,  how  with  tales  of  last  kisses  they  tremble  I 
Lo  his  eyes  of  all  sorrow  that  may  not  dissemble  I 

Cry  out,  for  he  heedeth,  "  O  Love,  lead  us  home  I " 


O  hearken  the  words  of  his  voice  of  compassion : 

"  Come  ding  round  about  me,  ye  faithful  who  sicken 

Of  the  weary  unrest  and  the  world's  passing  fashion  ! 
As  the  rain  in  mid-morning  your  troubles  shall  thicken, 
But  surely  within  you  some  Godhead  doth  quicken, 

As  ye  cry  to  me  heeding,  and  leading  you  home. 


326  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

"  Come — -pain ye  shall  have,  and  be  blind  to  the  ending! 
Come — -fear ye  shall  have,  mid  the  sky's  overcasting! 

Come — change  ye  shall  have,  for  far  are  ye  wending! 

Come — no  crown  ye  shall  have  for  your  thirst  and  your  fasting, 
But  the  kissed  lips  of  Love  and  fair  life  everlasting  / 

Cry  out,  for  one  heedeth,  who  leadeth  you  home  !  " 

Is  he  gone  ?  was  he  with  us  ? — ho  ye  who  seek  saving^ 
Go  no  further  ;  come  hither  ;  for  have  we  not  found  it? 

Here  is  the  House  of  Fulfilment  of  Craving , 
Here  is  the  Cup  with  the  roses  around  it ; 
The   Worlds   Wound  well  healed,  and  the  balm  that  hath 
bound  it  : 

Cry  out  /  for  he  heedeth,  fair  Love  that  led  home. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  327 


Enter  before,  the  curtain^  LOVE>  holding  a  crown  and  palm-branch. 

LOVE 

IF  love  be  real,  if  I  whom  ye  behold 
Be  aught  but  glittering  wings  and  gown  of  gold, 
Be  aught  but  singing  of  an  ancient  song 
Made  sweet  by  record  of  dead  stingless  wrong, 
How  shall  we  part  at  that  sad  garden's  end 
Through  which  the  ghosts  of  mighty  lovers  wend  ? 
How  shall  ye  faint  and  fade  with  giftless  hands 
Who  once  held  fast  the  life  of  all  the  lands? 
— Beloved,  if  so  much  as  this  I  say, 
I  know  full  well  ye  need  it  not  to-day, 
As  with  full  hearts  and  glorious  hope  ablaze 
Through  the  thick  veil  of  what  shall  be  ye  gaze, 
And  lacking  words  to  name  the  things  ye  see 
Turn  back  with  yearning  speechless  mouths  to  me. — 
— Ah,  not  to-day — and  yet  the  time  has  been 
When  by  the  bed  my  wings  have  waved  unseen 
Wherein  my  servant  lay  who  deemed  me  dead ; 
My  tears  have  dropped  anigh  the  hapless  head 
Deep  buried  in  the  grass  and  crying  out 
For  heaven  to  fall,  and  end  despair  or  doubt : 
Lo,  for  such  days  I  speak  and  say,  believe 
That  from  these  hands  reward  ye  shall  receive. 
— Reward  of  what  ? — Life  springing  fresh  again. — 
Life  of  delight  ? — I  say  it  not — Of  pain  ? 


328  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

It  may  be — Pain  eternal  ? — Who  may  tell  ? 

Yet  pain  of  Heaven,  beloved,  and  not  of  Hell. 

— What  sign,  what  sign,  ye  cry,  that  so  it  is  ? 

The  sign  of  Earth,  its  sorrow  and  its  bliss, 

Waxing  and  waning,  steadfastness  and  change ; 

Too  full  of  life  that  I  should  think  it  strange 

Though  death  hang  over  it ;  too  sure  to  die 

But  I  must  deem  its  resurrection  nigh. 

— In  what  wise,  ah,  in  what  wise  shall  it  be  ? 

How  shall  the  bark  that  girds  the  winter  tree 

Babble  about  the  sap  that  sleeps  beneath, 

And  tell  the  fashion  of  its  life  and  death  ? 

How  shall  my  tongue  in  speech  man's  longing  wrought 

Tell  of  the  things  whereof  he  knoweth  nought  ? 

Should  I  essay  it  might  ye  understand 

How  those  I  love  shall  share  my  promised  land  ! 

Then  must  I  speak  of  little  things  as  great, 

Then  must  I  tell  of  love  and  call  it  hate, 

Then  must  I  bid  you  seek  what  all  men  shun, 

Reward  defeat,  praise  deeds  that  were  not  done. 


Have  faith,  and  crave  and  suffer,  and  all  ye 
The  many  mansions  of  my  house  shall  see 
In  all  content :  cast  shame  and  pride  away, 
;  Let  honour  gild  the  world's  eventless  day, 
Shrink  not  from  change,  and  shudder  not  at  crime, 
Leave  lies  to  rattle  in  the  sieve  of  Time  ! 
Then,  whatsoe'er  your  workday  gear  shall  stain, 
Of  me  a  wedding-garment  shall  ye  gain 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  329 

No  God  shall  dare  cry  out  at,  when  at  last 
Your  time  of  ignorance  is  overpast ; 
A  wedding  garment,  and  a  glorious  seat 
Within  my  household,  e'en  as  yet  be  meet. 

Fear  not,  I  say  again ;  believe  it  true 
That  not  as  men  mete  shall  I  measure  you  : 
This  calm  strong  soul,  whose  hidden  tale  found  out 
Has  grown  a  spell  to  conquer  fear  and  doubt, 
Is  he  not  mine  ?  yea,  surely — mine  no  less 
This  well  mocked  clamourer  out  of  bitterness  : 
The  strong  one's  strength,  from  me  he  had  it  not ; 
Let  the  world  keep  it  that  his  love  forgot ; 
The  weak  one's  weakness  was  enough  to  save, 
Let  the  world  hide  it  in  his  honour's  grave ! 
For  whatso  folly  is,  or  wisdom  was 
Across  my  threshold  naked  all  must  pass. 

Fear  not ;  no  vessel  to  dishonour  born 

Is  in  my  house ;  there  all  shall  well  adorn 

The  walls  whose  stones  the  lapse  of  Time  has  laid. 

Behold  again  ;  this  life  great  stories  made ; 

All  cast  aside  for  love,  and  then  and  then 

Love  filched  away ;  the  world  an  adder-den, 

And  all  folk  foes ;  and  one,  the  one  desire — 

— How  shall  we  name  it  ? — grown  a  poisoned  fire, 

God  once,  God  still,  but  God  of  wrong  and  shame 

A  lying  God,  a  curse  without  a  name. 

So  turneth  love  to  hate,  the  wise  world  saith. 

—Folly — I  say  'twixt  love  and  hate  lies  death, 


33o  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

They  shall  not  mingle :  neither  died  this  love, 
But  through  a  dreadful  world  all  changed  must  move 
With  earthly  death  and  wrong,  and  earthly  woe 
The  only  deeds  its  hand  might  find  to  do. 
Surely  ye  deem  that  this  one  shall  abide 
Within  the  murmuring  palace  of  my  pride. 

But  lo  another,  how  shall  he  have  praise  ? 

Through  flame  and  thorns  I  led  him  many  days 

And  nought  he  shrank,  but  smiled  and  followed  close, 

Till  in  his  path  the  shade  of  hate  arose 

'Twixt  him  and  his  desire  :  with  heart  that  burned 

For  very  love  back  through  the  thorns  he  turned, 

His  wounds,  his  tears,  his  prayers  without  avail 

Forgotten  now,  nor  e'en  for  him  a  tale ; 

Because  for  love's  sake  love  he  cast  aside. 

— Lo,  saith  the  World,  a  heart  well  satisfied 

With  what  I  give,  a  barren  love  forgot — 

— Draw  near  me,  O  my  child,  and  heed  them  not ! 

The  world  thou  lovest,  e'en  my  world  it  is, 

Thy  faithful  hands  yet  reach  out  for  my  bliss, 

Thou  seest  me  in  the  night  and  in  the  day 

Thou  canst  not  deem  that  I  can  go  astray. 

No  further,  saith  the  world  'twixt  Heaven  and  Hell 

Than  'twixt  these  twain. — My  faithful,  heed  it  well ! 

For  on  the  great  day  when  the  hosts  are  met 

On  Armageddon's  plain  by  spears  beset, 

This  is  my  banner  with  my  sign  thereon, 

That  is  my  sword  wherewith  my  deeds  are  done. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  331 

But  how  shall  tongue  of  man  tell  all  the  tale 

Of  faithful  hearts  who  overcome  or  fail, 

But  at  the  last  fail  nowise  to  be  mine. 

In  diverse  ways  they  drink  the  fateful  wine 

Those  twain  drank  mid  the  lulling  of  the  storm 

Upon  the  Irish  Sea,  when  love  grown  warm 

Kindled  and  blazed,  and  lit  the  days  to  come, 

The  hope  and  joy  and  death  that  led  them  home. 

—In  diverse  ways ;  yet  having  drunk,  be  sure 

The  flame  thus  lighted  ever  shall  endure, 

So  my  feet  trod  the  grapes  whereby  it  glowed. 


Lo,  Faithful,  lo,  the  door  of  my  abode 

Wide  open  now,  and  many  pressing  in 

That  they  the  lordship  of  the  World  may  win  I 

Hark  to  the  murmuring  round  my  bannered  car, 

And  gird  your  weapons  to  you  for  the  war ! 

For  who  shall  say  how  soon  the  day  shall  be 

Of  that  last  fight  that  swalloweth  up  the  sea  ? 

Fear  not,  be  ready  !  forth  the  banners  go, 

And  will  not  turn  again  till  every  foe 

Is  overcome  as  though  they  had  not  been.  , 

Then,  with  your  memories  ever  fresh  and  green,      I  \V 

Come  back  within  the  House  of  Love  to  dwell ;      / 

For  ye — the  sorrow  that  no  words  might  tell, 

Your  tears  unheeded,  and  your  prayers  made  nought 

Thus  and  no  otherwise  through  all  have  wrought, 

That  if,  the  while  ye  toiled  and  sorrowed  most 

The  sound  of  your  lamenting  seemed  all  lost, 


332  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

And  from  my  land  no  answer  came  again, 
It  was  because  of  that  your  care  and  pain 
A  house  was  building,  and  your  bitter  sighs 
Came  hither  as  toil-helping  melodies, 
And  in  the  mortar  of  our  gem-built  wall 
Your  tears  were  mingled  mid  the  rise  and  fall 
Of  golden  trowels  tinkling  in  the  hands 
Of  builders  gathered  wide  from  all  the  lands. — 
— Is  the  house  finished  ?    Nay,  come  help  to  build 
Walls  that  the  sun  of  sorrow  once  did  gild 
Through  many  a  bitter  morn  and  hopeless  eve, 
That  so  at  last  in  bliss  ye  may  believe ; 
Then  rest  with  me,  and  turn  no  more  to  tears, 
For  then  no  more  by  days  and  months  and  yean 
By  hours  of  pain  come  back,  and  joy  passed  o'er 
We  measure  time  that  was — and  is  no  more. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  333 


JOAN 

THE  afternoon  is  waxen  grey 
Now  these  fair  shapes  have  passed  away ; 
And  I,  who  should  be  merry  now 
A-thinking  of  the  glorious  show, 
Feel  somewhat  sad,  and  wish  it  were 
To-morrow's  mid-morn  fresh  and  fair 
About  the  babble  of  our  stead. 

GILES 

Content  thee,  sweet,  for  nowise  dead 

Within  our  hearts  the  story  is ; 

It  shall  come  back  to  better  bliss 

On  many  an  eve  of  happy  spring, 

Or  midst  of  summer's  flourishing. 

Or  think — some  noon  of  autumn-tide 

Thou  wandering  on  the  turf  beside 

The  chestnut-wood  may'st  find  thy  song 

Fade  out,  as  slow  thou  goest  along, 

Until  at  last  thy  feet  stay  there 

As  though  thou  bidedst  something  fair, 

And  hearkenedst  for  a  coming  foot ; 

While  down  the  bole  unto  the  root 

The  long  leaves  flutter  loud  to  thee 

The  fall  of  spiky  nuts  shall  be, 

And  creeping  wood- wale's  noise  above ; 

For  thou  wouldst  see  the  wings  of  Love. 


334  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

JOAN 

Or  some  November  eve  belike 

Thou  wandering  back  with  bow  and  tyke 

From  wolf-chase  on  the  wind-swept  hill 

Shall  find  that  narrow  vale  and  still, 

And  Pharamond  and  Azalais 

Amidmost  of  that  grassy  place 

Where  we  twain  met  last  year,  whereby 

Red-shafted  pine-trunks  rise  on  high, 

And  changeless  now  from  year  to  year, 

What  change  soever  brought  them  there, 

Great  rocks  are  scattered  all  around : 

— Wouldst  thou  be  frightened  at  the  sound 

Of  their  soft  speech  ?     So  long  ago 

It  was  since  first  their  love  did  grow. 

GILES 

Maybe :  for  e'en  now  when  he  turned, 
His  heart's  scorn  and  his  hate  outburned, 
And  love  the  more  for  that  ablaze, 
I  shuddered,  e'en  as  in  the  place 
High  up  the  mountains,  where  men  say 
Gods  dwelt  in  time  long  worn  away. 

JOAN 

At  Love's  voice  did  I  tremble  too, 
And  his  bright  wings,  for  all  I  knew 
He  was  a  comely  minstreWad, 
In  dainty  golden  raiment  clad. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  335 

GILES 

Yea,  yea ;  for  though  to-day  he  spake 
Words  measured  for  our  pleasure's  sake, 
From  well-taught  mouth  not  overwise, 
Yet  did  that  fount  of  speech  arise 
In  days  that  ancient  folk  called  old. 

0  long  ago  the  tale  was  told 

To  mighty  men  of  thought  and  deed, 
Who  kindled  hearkening  their  own  need, 
Set  forth  by  long-forgotten  men, 
E'en  as  we  kindle  :  praise  we  then 
Tales  of  old  time,  whereby  alone 
The  fairness  of  the  world  is  shown. 

JOAN 

A  longing  yet  about  me  clings, 

As  I  had  hearkened  half-told  things ; 

And  better  than  the  words  make  plain 

1  seem  to  know  these  lovers  twain. 
Let  us  go  hence,  lest  there  should  fall 
Something  that  yet  should  mar  it  all. 

GILES 

Hist — Master  Mayor  is  drawn  anigh ; 
The  Empress  speaketh  presently. 

THE    MAYOR 

May  it  please  you,  your  Graces,  that  I  be  forgiven, 
Over-bold,  over-eager  to  bear  forth  my  speech, 


336  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

In  which  yet  there  speaketh  the  Good  Town,  beseeching 
That  ye  tell  us  of  your  kindness  if  ye  be  contented 
With  this  breath  of  old  tales,  and  shadowy  seemings 
Of  old  times  departed. — Overwise  for  our  pleasure 
May  the  rhyme  be  perchance ;  but  rightly  we  knew  not 
How  to  change  it  and  fashion  it  fresh  into  fairness. 
And  once  more,  your  Graces,  we  pray  your  forgiveness 
For  the  boldness  Love  gave  us  to  set  forth  this  story ; 
And  again,  that  I  say,  all  that  Pharamond  sought  for, 
Through  sick  dreams  and  weariness,  now  have  ye  found, 
Mid  health  and  in  wealth,  and  in  might  to  uphold  us ; 
Midst  our  love  who  shall  deem  you  our  hope  and  our  treasure. 
Well  all  is  done  now ;  so  forget  ye  King  Pharamond, 
And  Azalais  his  love,  if  we  set  it  forth  foully, 
That  fairly  set  forth  were  a  sweet  thing  to  think  of 
In  the  season  of  summer  betwixt  labour  and  sleeping. 

THE   EMPEROR 

Fair  Master  Mayor,  and  City  well  beloved, 

Think  of  us  twain  as  folk  no  little  moved 

By  this  your  kindness ;  and  believe  it  not 

That  Pharamond  the  Freed  shall  be  forgot, 

By  us  at  least :  yea,  more  than  ye  may  think, 

This  summer  dream  into  our  hearts  shall  sink. 

Lo,  Pharamond  longed  and  toiled,  nor  toiled  in  vain , 

But  fame  he  won  :  he  longed  and  toiled  again, 

And  Love  he  won  :  'twas  a  long  time  ago, 

And  men  did  swiftly  what  we  now  do  slow, 

And  he,  a  great  man  full  of  gifts  and  grace, 

Wrought  out  a  twofold  life  in  ten  years'  space. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  337 

Ah,  fair  sir,  if  for  me  reward  come  first, 

Yet  will  I  hope  that  ye  have  seen  the  worst 

Of  that  my  kingcraft,  that  I  yet 'shall  earn 

Some  part  of  that  which  is  so  long  to  learn. 

Now  of  your  gentleness  I  pray  you  bring 

This  knife  and  girdle,  deemed  a  well-wrought  thing  ; 

And  a  king's  thanks,  whatso  they  be  of  worth, 

To  him  who  Pharamond  this  day  set  forth 

In  worthiest  wise,  and  made  a  great  man  live, 

Giving  me  greater  gifts  than  I  may  give. 

THE  EMPRESS 

And  therewithal  I  pray  you,  Master  Mayor, 

Unto  the  seeming  Azalais  to  bear 

This  chain,  that  she  may  wear  it  for  my  sake, 

The  memory  of  my  pleasure  to  awake.    \Exit  MA YOR. 


THE  EMPEROR 

Gifts  such  as  kings  give,  sweet !     Fain  had  I  been 
To  see  him  face  to  face  and  his  fair  Queen, 
And  thank  him  friendly ;  asking  him  maybe 
How  the  world  looks  to  one  with  love  left  free : 
It  may  not  be,  for  as  thine  eyes  say,  sweet, 
Few  folk  as  friends  shall  unfreed  Pharamond  meet. 
So  is  it :  we  are  lonelier  than  those  twain, 
Though  from  their  vale  they  ne'er  depart  again. 

THE  EMPRESS 

Shall  I  lament  it,  love,  since  thou  and  I 

By  all  the  seeming  pride  are  drawn  more  nigh  ? 


338  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

Lo,  love,  our  toil-girthed  garden  of  desire, 
How  of  its  changeless  sweetness  may  we  tire, 
While  round  about  the  storm  is  in  the  boughs 
And  careless  change  amid  the  turmoil  ploughs 
The  rugged  fields  we  needs  must  stumble  o'er. 
Till  the  grain  ripens  that  shall  change  no  more. 

THE  EMPEROR 

Yea,  and  an  omen  fair  we  well  may  deem 
This  dreamy  shadowing  of  ancient  dream, 
Of  what  our  own  hearts  long  for  on  the  day 
When  the  first  furrow  cleaves  the  fallow  grey. 

THE  EMPRESS 

O  fair  it  is  !  let  us  go  forth,  my  sweet, 
And  be  alone  amid  the  babbling  street ; 
Yea,  so  alone  that  scarce  the  hush  of  night 
May  add  one  joy  unto  our  proved  delight. 


GILES 

Fair  lovers  were  they  :  I  am  fain 
To  see  them  both  ere  long  again  ; 
Yea,  nigher  too,  if  it  might  be. 

JOAN 

Too  wide  and  dim,  love,  lies  the  sea, 
That  we  should  look  on  face  to  face 
This  Pharamond  and  Azalais. 
Those  only  from  the  dead  come  back 
Who  left  behind  them  what  they  lack. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  339 

GILES 

Nay,  I  was  asking  nought  so  strange, 
Since  long  ago  their  life  did  change  : 
The  seeming  King  and  Queen  I  meant 
And  e'en  now  'twas  my  full  intent 
To  bid  them  home  to  us  straightway, 
And  crown  the  joyance  of  to-day. 
He  may  be  glad  to  see  my  face, 
He  first  saw  mid  that  waggon  race 
When  the  last  barley-sheaf  came  home. 

JOAN 

A  great  joy  were  it,  should  they  come. 
They  are  dear  lovers,  sure  enough. 
He  deems  the  summer  air  too  rough 
To  touch  her  kissed  cheek,  howsoe'er 
Through  winter  mountains  they  must  fare, 
He  would  bid  spring  new  flowers  to  make 
Before  her  feet,  that  oft  must  ache 
With  flinty  driftings  of  the  waste. 
And  sure  is  she  no  more  abased 
Before  the  face  of  king  and  lord, 
Than  if  the  very  Pharamond's  sword 
Her  love  amid  the  hosts  did  wield 
Above  the  dinted  lilied  shield  : 
O  bid  them  home  with  us,  and  we 
Their  scholars  for  a  while  will  be 
In  many  a  lesson  of  sweet  lore 
To  learn  love's  meaning  more  and  more. 


340  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

GILES 

And  yet  this  night  of  all  the  year 

Happier  alone  perchance  they  were, 

And  better  so  belike  would  seem 

The  glorious  lovers  of  the  dream  : 

So  let  them  dream  on  lip  to  lip : 

Yet  will  I  gain  his  fellowship 

Ere  many  days  be  o'er  my  head, 

And  they  shall  rest  them  in  our  stead ; 

And  there  we  four  awhile  shall  dwell 

As  though  the  world  were  nought  but  well, 

And  that  old  time  come  back  again 

When  nought  in  all  the  earth  had  pain. 

The  sun  through  lime-boughs  where  we  dine 

Upon  my  father's  cup  shall  shine ; 

The  vintage  of  the  river-bank, 

That  ten  years  since  the  sunbeams  drank, 

Shall  fill  the  mazer  bowl  carved  o'er 

With  naked  shepherd-folk  of  yore. 

Dainty  should  seem  worse  fare  than  ours 

As  o'er  the  close-thronged  garden  flowers 

The  wind  comes  to  us,  and  the  bees 

Complain  o'erhead  mid  honey-trees. 

JOAN 

Wherewith  shall  we  be  garlanded  ? 

GILES 
For  thee  the  buds  of  roses  red. 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  341 

JOAN 

For  her  white  roses  widest  blown. 

GILES 
The  jasmine  boughs  for  Pharamond's  crown. 

JOAN 

And  sops-in-wine  for  thee,  fair  love. 

GILES 

Surely  our  feast  shall  deeper  move 
The  kind  heart  of  the  summer-tide 
Than  many  a  day  of  pomp  and  pride ; 
And  as  by  moon  and  stars  well  lit 
Our  kissing  lips  shall  finish  it, 
Full  satisfied  our  hearts  shall  be 
With  that  well-won  felicity. 

JOAN 

Ah,  sweetheart,  be  not  all  so  sure : 
Love,  who  beyond  all  worlds  shall  dure, 
Mid  pleading  sweetness  still  doth  keep 
A  goad  to  stay  his  own  from  sleep ; 
And  I  shall  long  as  thou  shalt  long 
For  unknown  cure  of  unnamed  wrong 
As  from  our  happy  feast  we  pass 
Along  the  rose-strewn  midnight  grass — 
— Praise  Love  who  will  not  be  forgot ! 


342  LOVE  IS  ENOUGH 

GILES 

Yea,  praise  we  Love  who  sleepeth  not ! 

— Come,  o'er  much  gold  mine  eyes  have  seen, 

And  long  now  for  the  pathway  green, 

And  rose-hung  ancient  walls  of  grey 

Yet  warm  with  sunshine  gone  away. 

JOAN 

Yea,  full  fain  would  I  rest  thereby, 
And  watch  the  flickering  martins  fly 
About  the  long  eave-bottles  red 
And  the  clouds  lessening  overhead  : 
E'en  now  meseems  the  cows  are  come 
Unto  the  grey  gates  of  our  home, 
And  low  to  hear  the  milking-pail : 
The  peacock  spreads  abroad  his  tail 
Against  the  sun,  as  down  the  lane 
The  milkmaids  pass  the  moveless  wain, 
And  stable  door,  where  the  roan  team 
An  hour  agone  began  to  dream 
Over  the  dusty  oats. — 

Come,  love, 

Noises  of  river  and  of  grove 
And  moving  things  in  field  and  stall 
And  night-birds'  whistle  shall  be  all 
Of  the  world's  speech  that  we  shall  hear 
By  then  we  come  the  garth  anear : 
For  then  the  moon  that  hangs  aloft 
These  thronged  streets,  lightless  now  and  soft, 


LOVE  IS  ENOUGH  343 

Unnoted,  yea,  e'en  like  a  shred 
Of  yon  wide  white  cloud  overhead, 
Sharp  in  the  dark  star-sprinkled  sky 
Low  o'er  the  willow  boughs  shall  lie  ; 
And  when  our  chamber  we  shall  gain 
Eastward  our  drowsy  eyes  shall  strain 
If  yet  perchance  the  dawn  may  show. 

—  O  Love,  go  with  us  as  we  go, 
And  from  the  might  of  thy  fair  hand 
Cast  wide  about  the  blooming  land 
The  seed  of  such-like  tales  as  this  ! 

—  O  Day,  change  round  about  our  bliss, 


Come,  restful  night,  when  day  is  done  ! 
Come,  dawn,  and  bring  a  fairer  one  ! 


THE   END 

w/rn 

iron 


Printed  by  BALLANTYNK,  HANSON  <V  Co. 

Edinburgh  <&*  London 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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llNov'60B8 


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AN  DEPT 


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